


Halfway From The Curb To The Doorway

by Astalitha, Kaiserine



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Amnesia, Angst with a Smutty Ending, Consent Issues, Domestic, Dubious Consent, False Identity, Feelings, Heat Cycles, M/M, Pining, Poor Obi-Wan, Power Dynamics, Situational Humiliation, Slavery, Smut, no redeeming qualities, reprehensible filth, trash fire fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-12
Updated: 2018-03-23
Packaged: 2018-12-27 05:17:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12074268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astalitha/pseuds/Astalitha, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaiserine/pseuds/Kaiserine
Summary: Gathering supplies for his impending heat at Mos Eisley market, Obi-Wan encounters an Alpha slave who looks startlingly like Anakin. The boy's memory has been wiped of all but the last two years. Despite this, Obi-Wan cannot help but hope this is some providence of the Force at work.The man who looks like Anakin is listed without a name. His number is 16562. He is an Alpha, unbonded, mid twenties (the right age), last delivered amnestics two years ago. In that time, he has had - Oh Stars. Six owners.Anakin was his Padawan. This man - he has nothing to do with Anakin, surely.  But the Force is whispering to Ben, guiding him. He cannot save all the poor souls up for sale today. But selfishly, perhaps this one…





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **As a blanket precaution: read the tags.** This fic is not #Pure. If you're looking for thoughtful commentary on the effects of slavery, or the intricacies of consent, this may not be the fic for you. This is pure unbridled self indulgence.
> 
> The soundtrack for this fic is victory at sea's [Turn It Around](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RQw3YxDfPjI)

The Mos Eisley market is hot, sultry and uncomfortable. Ben wraps his robes closer around him, despite the blistering warmth. He is sweating profusely, and all too aware that the scent of his impending heat is only contained by several barriers of cloth. Every ripple of loose fabric lets a hint of pheromones into the air. Alphas lift their heads as he passes, searching for the Omega in their midst who is ready to be bred.

Ben is wary and alert. It’s not uncommon for a lone Omega to go missing in Mos Eisley marketplace, bonded or otherwise.

He has perhaps a few more hours before the main course of his heat overtakes him, and he has much to do in the meantime. He must purchase water - he will not be able to make a harvest until he has recovered - extra food, and oil. The oil is both for his lamps, and for purposes he is not currently comfortable considering. 

Anchorhead might have been a safer and swifter visit, but has numerous drawbacks. Ben very much does not want the residents of Anchorhead to realise that Crazy Ben Kenobi is an unbonded Omega. Mos Eisley is aggressively anonymous, and therefore his marketplace of choice.

With a hefty load of provisions already being loaded into his speeder, Ben tracks through the busiest section of the market towards the water dealers, intent on buying at least two tanks full. Enough for two painful weeks, which is usually how long the effects of his unmet heats last. 

An auction is taking place on a raised plinth. Thin bodied slaves lower their faces to the side, bowed and chained. Auctioneers babble in Huttese, rattling off prices or bartering with buyers. Ben turns his head away, shame prickling at the last vestiges of his pride. Playing the hero is best left to the days of Obi-Wan, and the clone wars. He is no longer that person.

With his head turned away, and his attention split between his shame and his intent to purchase water, he misses the warning from the Force. He runs smack into an unfamiliar Alpha’s chest. The man is tall, inky haired and well muscled, decorative golden chains layered over his crimson, sweat stained shirt.

This close, Obi-Wan can catch the Alpha’s scent. To his shame, it’s arousing - his body responding before his mind can take stock. His robes are jostled apart by the collision. The Alpha makes a dangerous, pleased noise, teeth flashing and pupils blown. He reaches out to snag Ben by the arm. Ben evades with a swift sidestep, ducking away from the Alpha towards the plinth, struggling through gaps in the crowd to hide himself in the throng.

The crowd moves like a single entity, flowing like water. Ben is jostled towards the front, in clear sight of the market’s wares. For a few moments, Ben stares up at the chained and despondent slaves - two twi'lek women who look to be twins; a rhodian man weeping silently; a young woman who smells like an Omega just short of her first flush; and several men who are a mix of Alphas, Betas and Omegas. 

The girl in particular looks dazed and slightly out of it. There has been a recent popularity of “treating” the slave population with amnestics, as a means of pacification and control. It’s likely she has been recently drugged. Ben offers each of the beings on the stage a silent apology.

“May the Force be with you,” he murmurs. Then turns to leave, heart aching.

The Force nudges him. Ben ignores it.

It pulls at him again: both the Force, and a scent in the air. An Alpha, familiar and strange.

Obi-Wan turns back.

There is an Alpha kneeling on the plinth. He is forced into position by chains between a metal collar, wrists, and knees. A plaque by him reads “Dangerous”. His dull, brown hair is matted, and lank, but shows hints of bleaching golden under the suns. Clean, it might be lighter, fine, even.

He resembles Anakin, though older than Obi-Wan remembers - soft wide mouth, straight nose, proud jaw and dimpled chin, expressive lines creasing around his mouth. But no scar cuts down the right of his face, and his limbs are flesh and blood. All of them.

Besides, Anakin is dead. Obi-Wan’s old Padawan is gone, lost to the dark and carved to pieces on the scorching shores of Mustafar. This man his relatively hale, and definitely whole.

The Force whispers again. The slave raises his head, eyes blinking open. They are painfully, heartbreakingly blue. Obi-Wan moves forwards, helpless against the compulsion to know more, or at least confirm that this boy has nothing to do with his lost Padawan.

The boy stares at him for a moment. No hint of recognition crosses his face. It’s likely he’s been drugged with amnestics anway. Even if it is Anakin, it’s doubtful he remembers Obi-Wan. That shouldn’t be a relieving thought. Somehow, it is. The Force pulses, compelling Obi-Wan to pay attention. To do something.

A solid weight thumps against his shoulders. A crimson sleeved arm comes up to wrap around his neck in a light but threatening choke hold. The scent of the Alpha is recognisable from before, and deeply unwelcome. 

“So this is where you ran off,” he hums into Obi-Wan’s ear.

“Well done, you found me,” Obi-Wan replies dryly, his eyes still fixed on Anakin. The Alpha who looks like Anakin.

“Indeed,” replies his suitor, silkily. “You like that one, hmm? Pretty, isn’t he? Strong. Come with me, Sweet Thing, and you shall have him, too.”

Obi-Wan cannot repress a wince of disgust. He drives his elbow back into the man’s solar plexus, and wheels round just as the Alpha is coming up for air. The Alpha’s fists are already curling, his teeth bared and lips curled with anger.

Obi-Wan dodges back out of the way of the impending attack, and pulls at the Force. “You don’t want to cause a scene. This is too much trouble, and beneath you.”

The Alpha stalls and straightens, dusting down his crimson sleeves and adjusting his gaudy jewelry as Obi-Wan’s compulsion takes hold.

“I should be glad to get off so lucky.”

“You should be glad to get off so lucky,” hisses the Alpha, and he spits at Obi-Wan’s feet.

Obi-Wan ignores him, focused on the Force. “This isn’t worth your time.”

The Alpha mirrors him obediently, but not without grabbing Obi-Wan’s jaw in a painful grip “You aren’t even worth my time. But just you watch - someone’s going to stick you sooner or later.”

He shoves Obi-Wan away, and stalks into the crowd, who part to let him pass.

Obi-Wan sighs gratefully.

The encounter done, Obi-Wan surveys the crowd. Unfortunately, he hasn’t avoided notice. His robes have fallen open during the struggle, and now every Alpha in the marketplace is fixing him with a hungry stare.

Not for the first time, Obi-Wan curses the scarcity of suppressants on Tatooine. If he could afford the ones on the black market, or register safely with a medicenter, this entire sequence of events wouldn’t have needed to happen. He could be back in his hut, or out with the bantha, or anywhere that wasn’t Mos Eisley.

Obi-Wan wraps his cloak tighter around himself, preparing to flee if this turns nasty. Someone growls, low and soft. The air is heavy with pheromones, Alphas responding to him. The hair prickles on the back of his neck, and Obi-Wan feels the urge to duck, expose his neck, submit. He ignores that urge ruthlessly, as weak kneed as it leaves him feeling. 

Eventually, the crowd seems to mellow - all of them aware that if any one person makes a move, a vicious fight may break out. They gradually go back to their business, and Obi-Wan goes back to his.

His encounter with the crimson shirted Alpha has served to highlight one thing - people are bidding on the golden haired slave. There isn’t much coin involved - any slave past their early twenties is considered worn, out of their prime. Offers are being traded sluggishly, without real interest - but that slave will end today with a new owner. 

There is a docket for each  _ product  _ on the market posted nearby. Obi-Wan struggles over to the board.

The man who looks like Anakin is listed without a name. His number is 16562. He is an Alpha, unbonded, mid to late twenties (the right age), last given amnestics two years ago. In that time, he has had - oh stars. Six owners. That is likely explained by the “Dangerous” note appending his file. Ropy scars cover his back, with fresh welts laid over. His shoulders are turning red and painful looking under the suns.

He looks so very much like Anakin. Now Obi-Wan thinks on it, he even smells right - that mixture of heady spice and fresh sweat and low, sweet musk. Smelling that scent feels very different off suppressants. And the boy’s eyes were so much like Anakin’s - fierce and unbroken, expressive, and hiding fragility.

Obi-Wan is a Jedi. His past attachments have no place during his exile on Tatooine.

Anakin was his Padawan. 

This man - he has nothing to do with Anakin, surely. 

The Force is whispering to him, guiding him. He cannot save all the poor souls up for sale today. But selfishly, perhaps this one…

He brought plenty of coin today. And he doesn’t truly need a full two weeks of water - within five days, he will be recovered enough to at least work the vaporators.

Can he truly buy a slave? What on earth is he planning to do with him? Keep him as a housekeeper? Free him into the desert with a bomb still implanted Force knows where? Worse - Obi-Wan’s heat is coming on. Already he is flush with the thought of having an Alpha all to himself. That he might avoid another torturous, unmet heat…

The thought disgusts him, and yet still manages to sink claws into his addled brain. Oh, if it were to be Anakin who took him, Anakin as he had been. His brave, bold, soft hearted Padawan...

What if, Force forbid, that is actually Anakin up there? What if that is truly his boy? Does Darth Vader lurk somewhere, buried beneath the amnestics? If Obi-Wan brings him home, will he potentially risk exposing Luke and the Lars household to the last man on earth who should know of their existence?

Oh, but if that is Anakin, Obi-Wan simply cannot leave him.

Even if it isn’t Anakin... he looks so like him.

Perhaps he should blame it on the hormones flooding him, on the madness that heat brings. Whatever the reason he decides to push back to the plinth and put forward his offer, it will have to be enough.

“You will give this one to me for five hundred,” he informs the auctioneer.

The slaver laughs, raucous. Obi-Wan thought his offer had been fair - much higher than the previous bid, but not ridiculously over the expected. Obi-Wan arches an affronted eyebrow, and the slaver claps him on the shoulder, friendly and cajoling.

“You do not want this one, Little Peach. He is no good for you, you want Suri, he is nice, gentle.”

Obi-Wan balks. Every person here must think he’s buying an Alpha as a pet for his heat. It’s distasteful, but Obi-Wan cannot afford the time spent arguing the point. Annoyingly, this man thinks he won’t be able to handle Anakin.

“Suri is one thousand more, I do not want Suri,” Obi-Wan replies.

The slaver fixes him with a knowing look. “This one, 16562, is very pretty, yes? I see you watching him. You think he will give you a good hard fuck? You are wrong.”

Obi-Wan does not grit his teeth. He smiles, forcing his eyes to crinkle at the edges as if with good humour. “He will give me what I want.”

The slave, who is not Anakin, turns to look at him. Obi-Wan senses fear, which outweighs a small amount of curiosity, underlaid with something electric and nameless.

The auctioneer chuckles. “He will beat you and leave you for dead, Sweet Peach. Choose another.”

Obi-Wan sighs mournfully. For the second time today, he draws the Force to him. Using suggestion and mind tricks in the direct language of Huttese feels more difficult, but he is skilled and perseveres.

“You will not make a better price, you know this. You will give him to me for five hundred, and be pleased to be free of the burden.”

For a moment the man stares at him, the suggestion warring with his stubborn nature. But at the end, Obi-Wan’s mind trick is too close to the truth to deny. Greed wins.

The slaver shrugs.

“For five hundred I cannot say no. Take him, may he fuck you raw.”

The slave watches Obi-Wan with bright, wary eyes, likely trying to take a quick study of his new Master. No doubt he heard the slaver’s bawdy insinuations. Perhaps he has done  _ that  _ kind of work before. Obi-Wan feels ill at the thought. Something like that would be Anakin’s worst nightmare.

Obi-Wan pays the man, and makes no remark on the lewdness of the comment. He tosses a coin to a handler to take the boy back to his speeder and load him for travel back to the wastes.

Before Obi-Wan leaves, the slaver presses a small box into his hand. Inside it is a datapad, with a few buttons, including a number pad.

“The number is 16562.”

“What is this?” Obi-Wan asks.

The auctioneer stares out at him blankly for a moment, then breaks out into laughter once more. Obi-Wan endures it patiently.

“You really do not know? That is his transmitter key. See the screen? A scanner. The number, this button? He runs off, makes trouble you do not want… Boom!” he gestures graphically. “No more slave boy.”

“I see,” Obi-Wan replies. He tucks the transmitter into his robes where it sits like a vial of poison against his heart.

Guilt sends little squirming feelings slithering through his belly. If that is Anakin, and he remembers everything, what will he think of all this? The shame Obi-Wan feels at the idea is unbearable. He finishes the transaction swiftly and moves on.

He goes to spend the meager remains of his coin on less water than he needs, slipping back into the mantle of Ben as he goes. 

Ben is quiet, desert addled but still competent. Ben is comforting. Ben has no existence outside his meager life in the desert. 

He has made a foolish choice, taking pity on a slave he can conceivably neither keep nor free, and Ben will do what he must to deal with that fact in as practical a manner as possible.

He draws his robes tighter around himself, and contemplates the stupidity of what he’s just done.

Ben arrives back to his speeder, and pays the guard with the final remainder of his coin. The boy who isn’t Anakin has been left in the back, covered in a white canvas sheet to keep the suns off him. A stack of hover crates and a tank of water are attached to the back. The Alpha is no longer chained - chains cost extra - but has been drugged for transportation.

Ben brushes a curl of dark, filthy hair off the slave’s face. He looks incredibly like Anakin, so much so that looking at him is painful. Even the texture of his hair is right. Ben resists the ridiculous urge to sink his face into it. It’s filthy, and possibly ridden with mites, for all he knows. 

The boy isn’t in a good way. His lips are dry and chapped. His brow is crusted with dried sweat, and the red skin on his shoulders is breaking into blisters. Ben takes the slave’s hand in his own, and pinches the back of it. It takes four seconds for the skin to lie flat. Anakin - Not Anakin, Ben reminds himself.  _ The boy _ \- the boy is dehydrated. 

The boy can hardly drink while unconscious, but urgently needs fluid. Bacta patches may be enough to hydrate him for now - they aren’t really designed with that in mind, but fill the purpose well enough. He has no obvious wounds that Ben can detect, other than the sunburn. He breaks open the emergency kit in the speeder and dresses the burns over the plane of his shoulders and upper back. The padding will at least provide him comfort and protect the damaged skin from further harm during the ride home.

The boy shifts slightly at the cool texture of the bacta, but does not wake.

Having ceased tending to his new charge, Ben checks his water, provisions, and other purchased supplies. Then he sets off into the wastes on his speeder, following the familiar canyon paths that will take him back to his tiny, forgotten homestead.


	2. Chapter 2

The suns set during their journey back, the black of night leaching heat out of the desert. Ben pushes the speeder as fast as it will safely go, anxious to avoid a run in with the native tuskens, or worse. The moons rise over head, sending long, fanned shadows bouncing between the dunes and rock formations.

The boy slowly drifts back into wakefulness about thirty minutes out from Ben’s home. Ben senses his awareness flickering, though the boy is still, unmoving. Probing with the Force, Ben senses fretful anticipation, mixed with relief, and the kind of pleasure that comes at the first absence of physical stressors. It’s a feeling he remembers from hard missions during the wars - the enjoyment of a brief, comfortable moment, perched on the edge of a cloudy, uncertain future.

Ben himself is feeling feverish, uncomfortable. Every movement seems to stir his aching groin with little sparks of need.

He pays it no heed. He still has to decide what to do.

He has just  _ bought a slave _ . Ben should free him immediately. The idea of keeping another living being in bondage, fear, and subjugation is utterly reprehensible to him.

But he simply cannot let go of the idea that miraculously, awfully, the Force has brought Anakin to him. He can’t just unleash Anakin, confused and alone, on the galaxy. What if he were to recover his memories? What if he were to be discovered by the Sith?

It seems sensible to keep up the pretense of Slave and Master, at least until he has determined the boy’s origins. He can keep him comfortable and safe, fed, watered and rested. There will be restrictions, of course - if Anakin were to wander into Anchorhead, for example, it might be disastrous. Not only would Anakin risk discovery, it would do no favours for Ben. Mad Ben Kenobi, now with slave. He can only imagine the Lars’ reaction to that piece of news.

So. He will keep the Alpha that isn’t Anakin safe in his homestead. He will maintain an air of Mastery - perhaps it will be like having a Padawan. 

Ben chides himself for the naive thought.

The transmitter key weighs heavily on his chest, filling him with ice, in a noteable counterpoint with the achy warmth spreading out through his limbs and into his chest.

Ben bleeds both feelings into the Force, bringing himself clarity and focus. Not quite soon enough, the pale dome of his hut and then the uneven spires of his water vaporators rise into view  Home in sight, he slows the speeder, picking his way up the awkward, rocky hillside.

There is a soft rustling in the back. Ben glances anxiously over his shoulder. Anakin stares back at him, eyes pale in the moonlight.

Ben grits his teeth and fixes his eyes ahead, guiding the speeder. All his remaining senses are focused on his new charge. He is all too aware that the scent of his heat will be obvious. Not to mention he is a new Master, vulnerable for this one, last moment during which any slave might be compelled to attempt escape. There is every chance Ben is about to fend off an attack.

The back of his neck prickles under scrutiny. He searches for something to say, but what is there? Any platitudes he might spill are worthless, devoid of empirical data to validate his claims. Anakin is not the kind to trust pretty words and smooth assurances. 

The boy isn’t Anakin. Or at least, it’s doubtful he remembers being Anakin. 

EIther way, Anakin is dead.

Regardless, Ben will show this boy that he means no harm. 

Despite his caution, they reach his hut without incident. Ben pulls to a stop in on the most defensible section, beside the cliff, maneuvering so unloading his supplies will take the least effort possible. The moment he is able, he turns to check on his charge.

The boy’s head is twisted to look over his shoulders, at the damaged skin on his back. He is picking irritably at the sticky bacta patches, no doubt they are irritating the edges of his burns.

“Leave those be,” Ben instructs, slipping naturally into the tone he most often reserved for lecturing Anakin.

The boy looks to him, face schooled into polite curiosity - but his lips are twitching, and he brazenly continues to fiddle with the patch.

“They are doing you good,” Ben continues, anxious not to press too hard, but also aware that his authority is being tested. “You will leave them alone.”

The boy stops playing with them after another moment.

Ben sighs, contemplating the logistics of moving the boy, food, and water into the house, while also defending from potential attack - both from a jumpy slave, and opportunistic tuskens. 

“You will stay here,” he commands, and sincerely hopes that he will be obeyed. 

There is a moment where he senses struggle. The Alpha’s scent grows sharp, as he contemplates rebellion. He might intend to use his nature to take control of the situation - there’s no guarantee that wouldn’t work, as vulnerable as Ben is right now. 

But the slave is likely dehydrated or heat struck anyway, from his long day under the sun in the market place. Ben pointedly ignores him, acting as if his commands will be obeyed. He maintains his air of calm authority, and senses the Alpha quiet.

Moving his various supplies into the homestead requires some effort. He could ask for help, of course, but that would be too much like commanding servitude. The thought makes him uncomfortable.

Fortunately, the heavy crates are hover equipped, which makes pushing them around much easier. Ben feels hesitant to use overt displays of the Force around a charge who could be triggered into remembering inconvenient things at the slightest push.

He doesn’t bother with the lights, as the moons are so bright tonight. Their pale glow floods through the windows of his little home, as they have on many nights before. It brings him comfort - this one thing has remained the same, despite the strangeness of the day.

There is movement in the house when he enters, and he jumps with surprise, hand reaching for a lightsaber that isn’t there. Then he recalls - he already has a guest. An anooba of some type, a scrappy desert scavenger he has been nursing - or domesticating, it seems. It snuffles around him as he enters, pressing it’s cool nose into his pockets, and begging for attention. Ben sets his box down and runs a hand over it’s soft fur and large, delicate ears.

Ben drags the remaining crates, as well as the heavy water tanker, into the house, stacked in the area he prepares food. The Alpha watches him curiously from the back of the speeder. His eyes are heavy lidded, tracking Ben as he returns, leaves, and returns again. 

The silence grows heavy and oppressive. Ben begins to feel a sense of primal wariness, totally separate from the usual forewarnings of the Force. This is deeper, from primitive flesh. 

He is being watched by an Alpha, who may be only moments away from snapping into rut. 

His stomach squirms under the attention, delighted shivers racing up and down his spine, even as his wariness grows.

He could drop his boxes. They are unimportant. He could offer himself here and now. He would kneel down, knees carving dents in the sand. He would slip his robes from his shoulders, baring them to the starlight, and he would beg. Anakin would come to him, cradle him, take him. They would be together at last, joined in an intimate and irrefutable way. It would feel good. 

Ben has never had his heat met before.

He’s been five years off suppressants, his last dose just days before he left for Utapau. His heats come irregularly after a life without them, unpredictable and volatile. At first they had come once, twice a year. This is his third in eight months, and they are coming closer together now. The desperation never seems to fully leave him. He has been aching and empty for so long, his body begging to be assuaged.

Here, the answer has presented itself, in the guise of an old friend come to gentle him and soothe his grief along side his desperate need. It would be over soon enough, and he would be able to think clearly again. 

Except that this is obviously not clear thinking - neither he nor the Alpha have consented to congress. They are unlikely to be capable of consent, as they are both heat addled.

Ben forces himself to concentrate only on unloading his speeder.

At last, his various bottles, boxes, and tanks are moved into the building. The boy who is most likely not Anakin has remained in the speeder as commanded. His obedience is both disturbing and relieving. 

Well, Ben thinks bitterly. It’s time to move his final  _ possession  _ inside.

Ben offers a hand to the boy to help him out of the speeder. The boy stares at it, then stares at him, then finally takes his palm in a firm grip, allowing himself to be maneuvered out and onto the ground. His feet are bare, and his toes curl into the sand, which is still warm from baking under the suns. 

A moment later, he crumples, moaning slightly with pain. No doubt his muscles are cramped with the long day spent at market, and Force knows where before. Ben hefts one of the boy’s arms over his shoulders, and half drags, half carries him inside. 

He is exactly Anakin’s height.

He smells so  _ right _ . Ben once more resists the urge to bury his face in the Alpha’s hair.

As they step through the doorway, the Alpha turns his nose into Ben’s neck, snuffling halfheartedly at the scent there. Ben deposits him on the sleeping platform in the wall nook, and backs swiftly away.

“Sit,” he commands. “Rest. Do not move.”

The boy regards him warily. He is shivering. Ben removes his brown cape and drapes it over his charge’s shoulders. In wrapping the boy up, he gets far too close to that intoxicating scent. The urge to lay his head down on the Alpha’s chest is overpowering. Their cheeks brush as Ben pulls himself backwards, and the Alpha sways forward, rumbling deep in his throat.

Ben backs away into the recesses of the hut, hiding among his crates and boxes. It’s a little darker in this part, and he uses the heat from the stove to light an ancient oil lamp. Out in the living space, the anooba lifts its head to regard their guest, then settles back onto the rug.

His guest - ha -  _ his slave  _ is likely dehydrated, so Ben fixes a ration of water. 

That primal fear is still beating away at him. Fighting the fear and the heat, and everything else, is too much. He allows his instinctive wariness to guide his actions. He edges back towards the seating area, deposits the cup of water on the small table by his bedside, and backs away swiftly.

“Drink,” he commands.

Anakin - the boy - simply looks at him. He does not reach for the cup. 

Ben watches him for a long moment, but he seems reluctant to move, particularly while under scrutiny. 

Ben’s stomach rumbles. He’s hungry. The boy must be too. 

That’s as good a reason as any to give his slave some privacy. Ben returns to his stove, rooting through his stores until he finds something bland and capable of slaking both their hungers. He has grains, even a little bantha milk. He can make porridge, or gruel of some kind. The boy may not have been fed a varied diet, and may not be up to eating anything particularly complex.

That said, there is a tiny pot of cactus nectar in the back of one of his cupboards. Anakin has a sweet tooth, and perhaps this new friend will enjoy a little sweetness. Ben entertains himself with that thought as he busies himself with the pot, pouring grain, milk, water, and a little sweet spice into a battered saucepan.

He must turn his back on the living space to achieve this. His neck prickles. He begins to grow wary again, that the Alpha will spring on him while his attention is occupied.

Unable to bear wondering, Ben returns to the living space to check if the Alpha has moved. He has not. His water is untouched.

Ben marches towards him, picks up the water, and offers it to him, practically forcing it into his hands.

“You will drink this now,” he instructs.

The boy takes the cup and sips at it obediently. He has wrapped Ben’s cloak closer around himself. His feet are tucked under him, and he is curled against the wall.

Ben returns to his cooking. At opportune moments, he sticks his head into the living area to ensure the Alpha has remained on the sleeping platform, though he has sunk into a wary, crouched position. It becomes routine - stir, check, relief. Stir, check, relief. Stir, check - the mug has returned to the table.

Stir, check - the Alpha has moved. He crouches on the floor, staring intently at Ben’s anooba.

“If you harm him, you will regret it,” Ben says, before he can think better of it.

“I wouldn’t,” says Anakin. “What kind of person do you think I am?” 

Not Anakin. 

His voice is exact. The gentle husk to it, the stilted, measured cadence. Ben staggers back to the stove without replying. 

The mixture is thickening well. He goes to search for bowls - it’s been some months since he did anything more refined than eat from the pan - and the nectar he is intent on giving to his guest. He sets out the bowls, then returns to digging for the little jar of nectar. He is in a compromising position, he realises. Bowed over, with his back to the Alpha. 

Who has not yet given him reason to fear.

And there is the nectar, at last. He stands, turns- 

The Alpha is crouched by the stove. Obi-Wan lurches backwards.

“ _ Anakin-  _ I mean-” He curses the slip, nearly dropping the jar. He sets it on the side. “ _ You _ . What are you doing?”

The Alpha tilts his head, questioning.

“Go back - back where you were.”

The Alpha doesn’t move. “But I’m lonely,” he says, plaintive.

Ben sighs, pinching his brows. He can’t summon the energy to chase the Alpha back to his seat. “Stay there then,” he waves the stirring spoon like a weapon to ward the Alpha off. A little porridge drops to the floor. “But come no closer.” 

The Alpha smirks at him, his chest rumbling with a contented chuff. He does not rise, crouching in the shadows and watching Ben with half lidded eyes. 

Out in the living space, the anooba’s ears twitch. He snuffles into the kitchen to lick up the mess. The Alpha pets him as he passes, smiling candidly. The anooba snuffles at his face, nose to nose, and the Alpha laughs.

Eventually the anooba tracks back to his bed on the rug, and the tension begins mounting again.

The silence grows as Ben stirs the pot.

He licks his lips, searching for what he wants to say. “How much do you remember?” he asks, no longer able to bear not knowing.

“Uh - some,” the Alpha replies. That’s vague to say the least. Suspicious. But Ben cannot imagine that Anakin, remembering everything - or anything at all - would peaceably have allowed himself to be transported into Obi-Wan’s home, or would have the patience to wait for an ideal opportunity to strike. He has had several of those so far.

“From when, I mean,” Ben says.

“Oh, a couple of years. I remember my last few masters. I remember a few skills. I’m good at fixing things,” the boy replies.

“I see.” 

The porridge has finished thickening. Ben turns off the stove, and portions the contents of the pot between two bowls, setting the pan back on the cooling stove. He opens the cactus nectar, spooning a little over his own, and being more generous with Anakin’s.

He turns back to the Alpha, holding both bowls. The Alpha has stolen the pot from the stove, and is smearing his finger through the remaining contents. He sticks his fingers in his mouth, sucking them clean.

Ben swallows a noise somewhere between a growl and a chirrup.

“I have- I have real food here, you know. I even have spoons.”

The boy brightens. “Oh. It’s not just for you?”

“No.” Ben replies. The Alpha is sat blocking his way to the living space. Ben does not wish to push past him. Close contact has proved unwise.

He does it anyway, ruthlessly ignoring the pleas and warnings of his body.


	3. Chapter 3

Ben carries the mostly empty pan and the bowls of sticky porridge into the main area of his hut. The Alpha stalks after him, nose flaring as he sniffs at the curls of sweet scented steam.

The bed is Ben’s primary seating area, and has space for them both, but seems like hostile territory. Too many carnal associations. The dining area is cramped, meant just for him. For a moment Ben imagines taking a seat at the table - what would the slave do? Curl at his feet? 

Ben sets the empty pan on the floor for the anooba to lick the dregs from, and settles beside it, back to the wall. The Alpha follows, sliding gracefully to his knees across from him. Ben thrusts a bowl into his hands.

The Alpha accepts the steaming porridge, stirring it curiously for a hint of what it might contain.

Ben spoons porridge into his mouth. The Alpha stares at him, until Ben gestures.

“What are you called?” Ben asks, hoping for a new name to displace the “Anakin” weighing down his tongue.

“Dani,” the boy replies. 

“Dani,” Ben repeats, trying the flavour of it. It’s convenient - he’ll be able to cover any slips.

“What did you call me before?” Dani asks. 

Ben flushes. While he waits for an answer, Dani sticks his spoon in his mouth. His eyes flutter with pleasure - the nectar no doubt having the intended effect.

“Ah-” Ben winces. What should he say? The partial truth seems the best option. “You look very much like an old friend. I was...  _ momentarily confused _ .”

“An old friend?” Dani prompts. 

Ben eats some porridge to avoid replying immediately. Dani looks innocent, but he has managed to hit a tone that has always registered with Obi-Wan as suspicious. Ben tugs at his beard, searching for deceit and hiding it behind a look of nostalgia.

Dani seems to be hiding no duplicity, but it’s growing harder to tell. Ben’s heat is affecting his connection to the Force, and his ability to differentiate subtle changes is already lost. Without his usual focus, his senses are smeared into uselessness.

“Yes,” he says eventually. 

“What happened to your friend?” Dani asks.

“He died,” Ben replies shortly. He doesn’t really want to get into it.

“Oh,” says Dani, swallowing thickly.

They eat the rest of their meal in silence - just the tapping of wooden spoons on clay.

Dani seems content to stuff his face with as much food as possible. Ben hadn’t quite realised how hungry he himself had become. Energy returns to him, fighting off the shaky exhaustion that's been turning his bones to jelly. Some of the fuzziness to his thoughts recedes too. 

The aching condition of his body remains. The sight of Anakin, so close by, kneeling and waiting patiently for him, is almost too much to bear. At least now he has the strength to chase off the treacherous, lustful thoughts plaguing him.

As they finish their bowls, Dani begins to toy with his spoon. It’s one of Anakin’s tells, when he has something to say and cannot find the words. Ben suspects that he is summoning the courage to speak. He remains silent, and waits for him.

“Uh, you know,” says Dani, eventually, proving Ben correct. “You can call me that if you want to. I don’t have a real name anyway.”

“No,” Ben says hastily. “Dani will do fine.” 

Even if Ben is starting to suspect there is something more happening here - that the Force has interfered, and that Dani is somehow tied to Anakin - Dani doesn’t seem remember it. Dani is simply not Anakin, even if he wears Anakin’s flesh. Anakin’s memory, his experiences - they burned in the fires of Mustafar, and their withered remains have been twisted beyond recognition. If they lived again through Dani, they have been washed away by the tide of amnestics.

Dani will have to be his own person, just as Ben became. Ben cannot treat Dani like a ghost from the past. That would be tremendously unfair.

An awful, sneaking thought: Here is his sweet Anakin, returned from death with all his darkness and grief stripped away. Pure, impressionable, untainted. A gift for heartbroken Obi-Wan, a return to simpler times.

Ben crushes that thought ruthlessly, though it clings stubbornly to his heart, lodging seeds of emotion there that he can’t dispel. Ben wishes he could blame it on his condition, but he knows himself well enough to recognise the flaw attachment, heat struck or otherwise.

He pets the anooba behind its ears instead of thinking on it further, pouring his nostalgia into a less troublesome recipient. The anooba chuffs happily.

“What do I call you?” Dani asks, breaking through Ben’s silent thoughts.

“Ben,” he replies.

“Ben?” Dani responds, testing out the name. It sounds totally wrong in Anakin’s voice. A strange violation. Anakin always prefered to call him ‘Master’, long after he was meant to. If not Master, then “Obi-Wan”. To hear anything else is strangely distressing.

Dani must notice his discomfort. He is grinning, teeth flashing and eyes crinkled. “That’s not your real name, is it?”

“Not really,” Ben replies awkwardly.

“I could call you something else? Most people who own me expect me to call them  _ ‘Master.’ _ ”

“No!” Ben yelps. He cannot bear the thought of Anakin, or anyone, so misusing the epithet.

“Okay, not that one then,” says Dani, still grinning. “But I have to call you something.”

It strikes Ben that Dani is growing very bold. It must have occurred to him by now that he has not been purchased by the standard issue of slave master. At the very least, he knows that Ben is an Omega, and he’s capitalising on the uneven power dynamic to establish control of the situation. 

It’s likely that he’s testing boundaries. Ben is happy for him to do so, though he really should make it clear what his rules are, before Dani oversteps.

“You will call me Ben,” he instructs firmly.

Dani nods, and sets his empty bowl down. Taking that as a sign that he’s done, Ben hauls himself up, knees popping, and begins tidying the clutter of used pottery.

“I can do that,” Dani offers, as Ben stacks the bowls together.

“No. That’s not what you’re here for.” Dani tilts his head and Ben coughs uncomfortably “Just. Stay there, yes?”

He rushes away, stuffing the cooking pot, dishware and spoons into the sonic cleaning unit.

When he returns, Dani is still knelt on the rugs, but he’s shifted into something more formal - beautiful, in its own way. His back is straight, and his hands are settled in his lap. He looks strangely decorative, with the light of the moons playing across his bare torso, shading his skin like marble. The brown robe has slid down his shoulders to pool on the floor like an inky puddle about his knees. His scent now pervades the room, and Ben struggles, gritting his teeth against the need.

The Alpha looks at Ben with wide, hungry eyes. Ben staggers forward and drops to his knees before him. The Alpha leans toward him, and rests one palm on the side of Ben’s face, fingers burying into the scruff of his beard. His grip is tight, nails biting subtly into the skin.

Ben leans forward into the touch, nuzzling affectionately. The Alpha brings his presence to bear, looming large over Ben. For the first time in his miserable existence on Tatooine, Ben finds the power of an Alpha comforting - erotic, even - rather than distressing. He meets Anakin’s blue eyes. They are wide, pupils blown, hyperfocused.

Ben knocks his hand aside and scrambles away, until his back hits one of the pourstone pillars of his hut.

Dani lurches after him, eyes flashing with irritation and poorly hidden hurt. 

“Dani!” Ben gasps. 

Dani snarls. The anooba raises it’s head, watching them anxiously. In the scant weeks it has lived with Ben, it has grown accustomed to his moods, and it now seems inclined to intervene to keep them calm.

Dani’s anger is swiftly followed by comprehension and a little shame. He bends over his knees and lowers his head to the floor, until his face is pressed against it.

The anooba settles back onto the rug.

“I’m sorry,” says Ben, his voice hoarse and panting. “I should have been more careful.”

“I don’t understand,” Dani moans, his voice cracking. “If you didn’t buy me for help, and you didn’t buy me for, well,  _ this _ , what  _ did  _ you buy me for?”

Ben squirms, feeling hot and a little ashamed. He knows that Dani will not like the answer. He takes a deep, meditative breath.

“I ah. I suppose that I - I saw you, and you looked so much like my old friend. And I felt sorry for you.”

Dani says nothing, but tilts his head and gives him a flat look. Ben can read the thought without him speaking it - ‘I didn’t ask for your pity’.

Ben may have felt sorry for Dani in the market. But now, Dani is trapped in close quarters with an Omega about to enter the thickest flush of heat. He has nowhere to go, and no means to protect himself from the biological compulsion to mate.

“I truly am sorry to put you in this position,” Ben sighs, shamefaced. He might be sorry, but he knows that he would likely make the same choices even now.

“What are you going to do? Chain one of us up?” Dani asks. He shifts a little to get more comfortable, curled on his side with his cheek resting on the floor.

He looks so perfectly docile. Ben cannot help himself. In a move fueled by utter stupidity, he shuffles forward, and runs a hand through the Alpha’s hair.

Ben expects a glare. Instead, Dani purrs, loudly. Ben continues, rubbing little circles into Dani’s scalp. Dani flashes him a warning look, but makes no move to get up, so Ben continues. The texture of Dani’s hair leaves something to be desired, filthy as it is. The strands are clumped together and oily, and small grains of sand and dirt are trapped close to the scalp. But the way his face slackens with relaxed pleasure reminds Ben of quiet, comfortable moments with Anakin. It brings him a sense of calm he hasn’t felt since the first signs of his heat appeared.

Dani seems to find comfort in it too. Ben’s scent must be maddening, but Dani seems happy to remain where he is.

“Well, are you going to chain me up or not?” Dani presses, when his question goes unanswered.

Ben coughs uncomfortably. “Oh, ah. No. I don’t own anything strong enough to hold either of us.”

He does have the downstairs bunker, but he doesn’t want to leave Dani amongst his most delicate supplies and tools unattended. The last thing he needs is Anakin crafting himself a lightsaber with deadly intent, while Ben writhes in the agony of an unmet heat only meters above him.

But he also doesn’t want to lock himself down there and leave Dani alone and unattended on the floor above.

“You mean to say,” says Dani, now sounding frustrated, “that you bought yourself an Alpha, when you’re right on the edge of heat. But you don’t want to be bred after all, and you don’t have any means to protect yourself?”

“Ah- Well-” 

“You  _ idiot _ .”

Ben smiles, because he agrees. That doesn’t mean he appreciates the back talk, and he taps Dani lightly on the nose, something he had done when Anakin was much younger. “None of that, now, ” he says, scolding.

“Sorry,” says Dani, but he sounds unrepentant. "You know, I've never been owned by an Omega before. Alphas, sure, and a few Betas. But you’re a first.”

“I see,” Ben replies. He now counts amongst Dani’s owners. He purses his lips. Morbidly, he feels curious to learn how Dani’s past has treated him. It isn’t his place to ask.

“Most of them were alright,” Dani tells him, perhaps sensing his curiosity. “They just needed someone strong, or someone who can fix things. The Alphas could be a little… odd. ”

Ben raises a questioning eyebrow.

“Oh, you know what us Alphas can be like,” Dani smirks, self deprecating.

Ben imagines he does - posturing, egotistical. Alpha slaves are sometimes seen as a symbol of strength.

“So you’ve never, encountered an Omega - ah, like  _ this  _ \-  before?”

Dani goes quiet, his face twisting. He looks away.

“Dani?”

“Not as a Master. There were other slaves. Sometimes I would be put in with them - you know, to-”

“-I can imagine,” Ben interrupts. Dani’s voice is light and cheery, in a way that suggests he is being intentionally blithe to protect himself.

Ben lays his hand on Dani’s cheek, quieting him. He doesn't need to know more. He’s put Dani into the worst imaginable situation. 

“If anything happens, I won’t blame you,” he informs Dani stiffly. “I put you in this position. I’m terribly sorry.”

Dani says nothing.

They lapse into silence for a while. Ben takes the opportunity to examine the sunburn on Dani’s back. The burns not covered by bacta have blistered more severely than he previously thought. 

“Oh stars - Dani, your back. Doesn’t it hurt?” Ben smooths his fingers over the skin. If feels rough and taut. He hadn’t noticed, in the dark of his hut.

Dani shifts. “Is it really that bad? I didn’t want to complain.”

“Stay there.” Ben keeps a tub of bacta in the trunk with his robes, and Anakin’s lightsaber. He takes the key from the floor compartment he keeps it in, and unlocks it.

As usual, he avoids looking too hard at the contents, fishing out a tub of bacta and several patches. He also finds antiseptic wash, purified water, and a wad of bandages. On a whim, he stuffs Dani’s transmitter key in amongst the rest of his past, and closes and locks the trunk with a resounding click.

The key has a length of cord looped through it, and he slips it over his head. The last thing he wants is Anakin seeing the contents of that trunk.

He washes his hands with a smidge of cleansing gel, and fetches the oil lamp for a little extra light. He could turn the wall lamps on, but a strange, peaceable mood has settled over them, blanketed in the shadows and lit by the light of Tatooine’s three moons. The oil lamp flickers warmly.

"Come sit up," Ben instructs, as he kneels back down next to his charge. "What are you doing down there anyway?"

"I, uh" Dani's cheeks go red with genuine embarrassment. “I’m - uh - docile when I’m like this. I wanted to make sure I didn’t hurt you,” More of that brittle humour.

“Docile?” Ben asks. He has never heard of an Alpha being soothed through kneeling on the floor before, though perhaps the position is humbling in some way?

Dani snickers softly. “I mean this is what I’ve been taught. So I don’t go after the Master’s Omega. There’s lots of other tricks I can pull too, if you’re interested.”

“I think we’ll save that for now,” Ben says wryly, covering how disturbed he is with humour. It sounds like Dani has been literally trained, like an animal. “Can you sit for me?” Ben asks.

”I should stay like this. I think.”

“Alright,” says Ben, soothingly. Dani is choosing to do this - he’s using a tool he has been handed to control himself. Ben won’t take that away from him because it makes him uncomfortable.

He runs a hand through Dani’s hair, once again unable to keep himself from temptation. Dani purrs, and Ben feels a matching noise leave his own chest, completely unbidden.

This is all so pointless. Surely their mating is inevitable at this point. It would be far simpler to give in. He aches so terribly, empty and sore. Dani is right there, soft and warm. Ben can sense the sweet gentleness in him, just like Anakin’s had been. Dani wouldn’t hurt him, and Ben could make him feel so wanted and safe.

Ben’s purr shifts into something high, chirruping and needful.

“Ben - please,” Dani begs, voice rough and desperate.

Ben winces, swallowing the sounds where they swell tightly in his throat. “Sorry, little one,” he says softly. He feels as if he is speaking around a bubble. His voice vibrates with tension. “Your shoulders - perhaps you could lie flat for me?”

“Sure,” Dani agrees. He twitches warily under close examination. Nevertheless, he rolls onto his front, and allows Ben a full look at his back.

The bacta patches are still doing their work, and Ben is grateful now that he’d applied them when he did. The areas around the patches are badly damaged, full of tiny white blisters, interspersed with red scaly skin. Dani’s left shoulder sports several oozing, yellow blisters, most of which have popped in transit. 

The existing bacta patches are clumsily applied. Ben removes them, regretting the waste. He puts them to one side - he might be able to salvage some of the remaining bacta out of them. Not 100% sanitary, but better than letting it go to waste. He’s content to see that they’ve done some good work. The skin beneath them is still pink and ugly, but looks far better than Dani’s mottled upper shoulders.

He starts with the antiseptic wash, cleaning his own hands again, before debriding the damaged and dead skin where the blisters have formed so the bacta can begin healing the damaged tissue beneath. Dani hisses and whimpers.

The anooba raises it’s head worriedly, and curls in a little closer to Dani’s side, offering comfort. Dani reaches out to pet its head.

“Shush, little one, I know,” Ben whispers. Dani curls his fingers into the rug. Ben regrets the lack of pain medication. He’s used to simply ignoring his own pain, or soothing it with meditation if required.

As soon as he’s done cleaning the wounds, Ben smears bacta across Dani’s shoulders and back. The bacta is cooling and slightly numbing, and will hopefully relieve some of the pain. He has no gloves to use, and guiltily trails his bare fingers over the rough skin, feeling the texture and the twitch of musculature beneath. Dani hums quietly. It must still hurt, but the bacta is clearly already helping. He seems content to accept Ben’s ministrations for now.

He applies patches to the worst areas - his upper shoulders, the back of his neck, upper arms. The remaining area will do with just the ointment.

All that remains is to wrap the wounds so the bacta can get to work undisturbed. That will require full access to Dani’s torso.

“I really do need you up now. Up you get, Dani.”

Dani pulls himself up. He bows his head, forcing himself into a fearful, submissive posture that doesn’t suit him. His hands curl into tight fists on his knees. In the oil lamp, his chest looks pink and raw. Ben sets down the bandages and reopens the pot of bacta, layering it over the damaged skin.

Dani growls beautifully as Ben traces his collarbone, sending a shivery chill down his spine.

Ben grits his teeth and snatches clumsily at the Force to keep himself in the present.

For a long moment, Dani holds stiff and still.

Ben lets him recover, then continues working on his chest. As he does so, Dani leans in closer to him, crowding him with his broad shoulders.

Ben allows it, even though it makes his body beg for contact, muscles tightened and hairs prickling.

As he reaches for the bandages to begin wrapping Dani’s chest, Dani shoves him, and he crashes backwards, knees bent painfully so his thighs strain. Dani looms over him. His blue eyes glimmer playfully in the light from the oil lamp, and his teeth flash in a wild, dangerous grin.

He brackets Ben with his arms, not quite pinning him down as he lowers himself to inhale the heady scent at the juncture of Ben’s neck and collar.

Ben finds himself frozen still. The urge to submit to whatever the Alpha might visit upon him is overwhelming. The soft snuffling at his neck is simultaneously maddening and comforting. It tickles lightly, pleasantly. He screws his eyes closed and tilts his head, allowing easier access, desperate for the feel of teeth, for the pain that will ground him as the Alpha claims him.

A moment later, Ben feels a wet nose in his face, and soft, worried snuffling. Dani laughs softly, and pulls back, sitting on his haunches as Ben’s anooba scrambles over him, tail wagging anxiously. Ben struggles up, embarrassed, disappointed, and incredibly relieved, trying to avoid getting a wet tongue in the face.

“Hush,” Ben laughs, patting the beast’s sides and petting its soft head. “Hush now.” He turns to Dani, grinning wryly “It’s just his nature - he worries awfully.” 

Dani wrinkles his nose, then laughs. The tensions breaks, and Ben sighs. That was close. Thank the Force for the mercy of small creatures.

“I think we scared him,” Dani confesses, looking sheepish. 

“Yes - ah, sorry about-”

Dani shrugs cheerfully. He kneels back down while Ben settles the anooba, pressing his forehead to the floor and breathing deep, meditative breaths.

Ben returns, coaxes him back into a sitting position, and finishes wrapping his chest. They succeed without further incident.

When they are done, Dani curls up next to the anooba.

“I’ll stay here, if that’s alright?” he says.

Ben brings him extra cushions, one of the hide rugs from the sleeping platform, and a woven blanket. He manages to dig out spare sleeping clothes, old and slightly ratty though they may be. He worries for a moment that even his loosest pants will be too small, but the boy has lost far too much weight. Dani changes quickly and wraps himself up tightly in the blanket. Ben leaves the oil lamp with him, to do with as he pleases.

With Dani attended to, Ben changes into his own sleep clothes and huddles on his bed. He surreptitiously watches Dani’s face in the flickering glow. Dani watches him back.

Ben cannot sleep, although now would be an adequate time to do so. Without the distraction of tending to Dani, his body's needs are making themselves known. 

It’s a familiar misery now. His groin aches with burning, frenetic need. The agony peaks as juices pool and leak stickily down his thighs and the crack of his ass. His flesh is swollen, sensitive to the point of soreness. Then slowly, the desperation and ecstatic want subsides, leaving him barren and desolate, before the pain and need begin to grow once more.

The presence of an Alpha, especially one his body recognises and trusts, seems to make matters alternatingly worse and better. He feels safe and secure in a way he never has during heat before - his body reacts with surety that he will be well taken care of. But there is a constant frightening pressure to give in, to call his Alpha to him and allow him to take possession.

The words of the slaver return “ _ May he fuck you raw. _ ” Oh how welcome that would be right now. Ben has never experienced a met heat, but the thought of something filling that void inside him is intoxicating. The closeness, the joining of flesh in flesh, all pretense of Jedi detachment set aside…

Ben is making those noises again - soft and high and pitiful.

Dani stares at him from the floor, wide eyed, pupils blown. He seems to sense Ben come back to himself, and Ben desperately hopes he hasn’t been projecting his thoughts into the Force for Anakin to witness.

Dani coughs. “If I - uh. If I stand up, then that’s bad. You can try telling me to ‘drop’ - that was the word they used - but it might not. I might not-”

“Yes,” says Ben. “I understand.”

Ben is perfectly capable of defending himself. He just doesn’t trust himself to really do it - other than an ill conceived attempt at coyness. Even distressed as he is, he still has some use of the Force. Dani has likely lost some of that ability, besides the instinctual. If anything happens, it’ll be Ben’s fault.

“Stop blaming yourself, Master. Some things just are.”

For a moment Ben’s heart nearly stops, panic leaching in at the thought that Anakin - Anakin can’t be here. Can’t see him this vulnerable, this humiliated.

“Please, just Ben,” Ben reminds him.

Dani flushes. “Sorry M- Sorry Ben. Force of habit, you know how it is. Training.”

Surely Ben would sense it, if Anakin was with him. And Anakin - Anakin would likely be too angry to keep a charade up this long.

“Of course. Come on, let's at least try to get some sleep.”

Dani hums in agreement, and snuffs out the oil lamp.

Ben curls up on his sleeping platform, missing his extra cushions. He’s too tired to sleep, too distracted, but he makes a go of it anyway, reaching for meditation if nothing else.

Across the hut, Dani’s breathing evens and slows. Soon, the Alpha is snuffling with little snores. Listening to Dani, and counting his own breaths, Ben eventually reaches a light doze. After a few hours, he mellows into something like sleep. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone is a little more truthful...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder: Read the tags. More detailed notes at the end of the chapter for readers who like a more detailed warning.... may be spoilerific.

In the night, Obi-Wan wakes briefly. There is a sensation of movement - the bedding dips as another body settles beside him. His senses calm him. It’s just Anakin, likely sleepless from some nightmare or other. Sleepily, Ben curls towards that warmth. An arm settles around his waist, and he is tugged back against the Alpha’s chest.

There is no need to struggle or fight it. His body is sensitive, aching, and the presence of an Alpha beside him is as calming as it is overwhelming. Scent washes around him, and the thud of a familiar beating heart carries him gently back into slumber. There is no need for fear. It’s just Anakin, making little, soft, contented grumbles as their presences twine together in the Force, familiar and satisfying. Master and Padawan, Alpha and Omega, loving and beloved.

He drifts.

He wakes slowly, altogether too warm, but also comfortable. Something heavy is laid out on top of him, but rather than restricting, it feels safe. A chest to his back, a knee braced between his thighs and arms bracketing him. There is nowhere he needs to be, nothing he needs to do. Golden hair tickles the side of his face, and teeth worry and nip at the skin between shoulder and throat. He imagines the marks these soft little bites will leave, and purrs contentedly, tilting his head to allow access.

There’s something like a hip digging into his side, and what might be a chin making a bruise in his shoulder. Drifting out of sleep, it’s a little less easy to ignore. He shifts to be a little more comfortable, but only ends up making it worse. His bed partner is a mess of elbows and knees and sharp corners. He peels his eyes open, and blinks disorientedly at the whitewashed wall.

The events of last night swim back to him slowly.

With the benefit of sleep, dampening the worst throes of his heat, the Force feels clearer. For a moment, Ben feels almost certain that somehow, the Force has interfered and brought him Anakin. The thought of Anakin marking him seems intimately perverted, in a way that is simultaneously arousing and awful. The certainty that Anakin is with him fades as his lust swells, until Ben is no longer sure if it was something he truly sensed, or just wishful speculation.

Yes. That’s Dani, nibbling drowsily at his collarbone.

Ben can’t seem to find the will to move right away. He absolutely should move - there’s no way this will end well if he doesn’t. But this close to the Alpha, and his scent, the rational half of Ben is fading. Dani’s soft purrs have an almost sedative effect, spreading a glowing, molten feeling through his limbs.

Half heartedly, he tries to push himself up. Dani growls. The knee braced between his thighs presses forward, grinding against his dick and aching, empty hole. The effect is instant, and for a moment all Ben can do is rut against it, pure, blissful sensation overtaking his higher thought.

Disturbed by the movement, Dani awakens fully. He grabs one of Ben’s wrists, tight and secure, and uses it as leverage to push him down. Ben lets it happen, stomach tightening with want.

Dani hums contentedly. “Good, yes,”

He still sounds like Anakin. That might _be_ Anakin. Two thoughts occur to Ben: Dani hasn’t really agreed to this. He’s following instinct. And Anakin _certainly_ hasn’t agreed to it. Anakin would be mortified. Anakin would be more than mortified, he would be furious, Anakin _despises_ him-

“No-” he begs firmly, “Dani, please-”

“Hmm?” says Dani, nuzzling at his neck. He sounds dreamy, but there is a mocking, proprietary tone underneath his softness that drives Ben into panic.

He freezes in place. “Get up.”

“No,” Dani purrs.

“I mean it,” Obi-Wan hisses, in his most Masterly voice.

Dani stills, but his grip tightens. A hand settles heavily on the back of Ben’s head, half smothering him until he twists his face to the side.

“Please, Dani,” he begs, “Neither of us agreed to this. You don’t want it.”

“Don’t I?”

“No. This is highly inappropriate.”

“Is that a problem, _Ben_?” Dani replies silkily, in Anakin’s most dangerous tone. His words are weighted oddly, and Ben feels cold with worry. Not for the first time, he worries that Dani knows more than he’s letting on.

Fingers tighten into his hair. Ben groans, delighted by the sting, desperate for it. Guiltily, he lets himself imagine Anakin, taking payment for all the wrongs Obi-Wan has done to him in this intimate, vengeful way. The thought is so wrong, but pinned like this, he can't deny the attraction of the idea. His scalp aches. His wrist feels hot and heavy, twisted behind his back and pinned there while his shoulders burn. He longs for the catharsis of paying for his sins in such a physical way.

It’s just a thought, and one Ben rids himself of swiftly.

He grits his teeth, searching for some tool he might use to get through this without incident - until he remembers Dani, the previous night.

“Drop,” Ben commands.

Dani chokes, then stiffens. He slides off the bed and kneels on the floor, back arched prettily, and forehead pressed down. He pants there, chest heaving and limbs quivering, fists clenched.

Ben scrambles up, back to the wall. He pulls a cushion over his crotch, where his arousal is all too evident. He doesn’t want to give Dani any more ideas.

They both sit quietly for a while. Dani’s shivering slowly stills.

“Dani?” Ben asks quietly, voice rough.

“Yes?” Dani replies. He sounds quiet, guilty and afraid.

“Are you alright?” he says eventually.

“Yeah,” says Dani. He sits up slowly. There’s a pink mark on his forehead, from resting it on the floor. “Sorry,” he adds, smiling ruefully.

Ben watches him closely. There’s an air of lightness to him - one Ben is sure Anakin could not maintain, should he know the full extent of their history.

When Ben fails to say anything else, the Alpha’s smile turns coy and cheerful.

Dani stands, and when Ben doesn’t protest, he slides back onto Ben’s bed, looking pleased with himself. He throws himself amongst the pillows, watching Ben carefully, a relaxed grin spreading across his face. Ben’s own lips twist, and he grimaces to hide the smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

Another day begun. At least five more to go before the worst of this torment is over. Yet again, he wonders if it wouldn’t be simpler just to let nature take it’s course. Once more, he reminds himself that Dani has agreed to nothing.

The Alpha blinks at him, from where he has settled on the bed looking unconsciously happy, relaxed, like nothing in the galaxy could compel him to move. It strikes Ben as odd. He and Dani have reached a swift and felicitous accord, but the trust Dani shows him certainly hasn’t been earned.

Ben wonders if it’s the hormones, or maybe the simple fact that he has yet to attempt to truly control Dani, or hurt him. He’s been strict, yes, but no more than he has ever been with Anakin.

Perhaps there is some latent recognition, seeping past the amnestics, telling Dani that he should relax himself, that he is in the company of someone he knows and trusts.

Ben allows himself a moment to relax. His anooba lifts itself up from the rug, and hovers hopefully by the sleeping platform until Ben pats the cushions and lets it up. It curls up in a ball by Dani’s side, and Dani grins, running his fingers over its head, and into the longer, shaggy fur at the back of its neck.

“I want to make you breakfast,” says Dani, after a few minutes of peaceful contemplation.

Ben sighs. “You don’t have to. I told you, that’s not-”

“I want to. Let me try?”

Ben purses his lips. Dani flashes that grin at him again. Ben sighs, and Dani doesn’t wait for an answer. He levers himself out of bed, and goes to investigate the contents of Ben’s storage.

“Alright,” Ben says, with no small amount of trepidation. “But I think perhaps getting clean should be the first priority.”

Last night, they’d both been too tired to do anything more than eat and dress Dani’s wounds. By the light of day, it’s clear they’re both filthy. Dani’s hair is lank and greasy. His feet are filthy, and Ben is sure that his legs are dirty up to the thighs, with all the sitting around in the market. They’re both covered in desert sand from the journey back.

Ben stinks. He’s been sweating heavily through the night, and his underclothes are probably ruined.

“Yes please,” says Dani. He spreads out his arms theatrically, as if showing Ben the total mess he’s in.

“I have a sonic in the back. Come on, I’ll show you,”

“What about you?” Dani asks, and has the guts to wink suggestively.

“Absolutely not.”

“It would save power,” Dani replies. He has a point, but now isn’t the time.

“We’ll manage.”

Ben leads him to the wash room, and shows him the different buttons, as well as a place where he can hang his clothes so they get cleaned too. He pours Dani two cups of water from a spigot jutting out of the wall.

“This water isn’t potable, really,” he explains. “Been through the filter one too many times. But it’ll do to freshen up out of the sonic. I never really feel clean, otherwise.”

“Thanks,” Dani grins. “You know, you really should join me.” He shifts his body, looming large, using the weight of his voice and presence.

Even as Ben shrinks, Omega instincts insisting that he obey, he recognises that Dani is attempting to use his nature to compel him.

“No,” he says sternly.

“Fine,” says Dani, and backs away instantly. “Have it your way. You know, you’d feel much better if you just got it over with.”

As if in revenge, he starts stripping off. He peels off his sleep pants, then hooks a hand through his underwear. Ben wheels around, marching out of the wash room with a furious blush on his face.

“Absolutely not. I won’t put you in that position, not while you’re almost as compromised as I am.”

“Whatever,” says Dani.

While Dani is in the washroom, Ben prepares for the day. He pours a bowl of milk and grain for the anooba, which is capable and highly willing to eat practically anything he offers it. When it’s done consuming food and making a mess all over the floor, Ben sends it outside. It has a tendency to roam through the morning, and will return before the heat of the day is at its fullest, or shortly before nightfall.

His furry charge taken care of, Ben busies himself with the supplies. He’s often a little more extravagant with his shopping when he’s on the verge of heat. He seems to swing between ravenous hunger and miserable nausea. Between the increased appetite, and finicky palate, his supplies often contain a lot of fresher produce. Close to hand, he has both powdered and fresh eggs, dried fruit and preserves, and various shapes and textures of protein, including an interesting sausage of cured bantha meat.

He sets these out for Dani to use. Dani doesn’t spend long in the washroom, and emerges only a few minutes later in his sleep pants, significantly cleaner than before.

As Ben guessed, his hair has returned to a deep golden colour. The bacta patches and wrappings on his chest, back and shoulders are holding up well, and the bits of reddened skin peeking out from beneath them are bronzing as the bacta heals the damage.

His ribs and collar bone protrude, and his pants are sliding low over his sharp hip bones.

“You look better,” Ben says, which is true. Dani grins. “You’ll look better still for some food.”  Ben waves at the produce stacked on top of the hover crates he’s currently using as a counter. “Feel free to use what you can.”

“I will do. You should get washed,” Dani replies.

Ben nods, and allows himself to be ushered into the sonic.

Dani’s confidence is growing. Last night he’d seemed hesitant, anxious about how Ben would treat him, and pushing his boundaries. This morning he seems to have determined that Ben is no threat, and is asserting himself as all Alphas are want to do.

While Ben is pleased that Dani is clearly comfortable around him, part of him is disturbed. Ben needs to retain control of the situation. Last night, he’d determined to keep up at least some charade of master and slave, until he’d determined Dani’s origin. He needs to commit to that if he wants to get anywhere. If Dani gets it into his head to wander off, Ben could be in for a world of trouble.

Well aware that Dani could use Ben’s current absence as an opportunity to slip away, Ben hastens to get his ablutions done with.

He strips mechanically. His undergarments are as bad as he thought - damp and sticky with his heat. They probably stink, but the scent is so pervasive now he’s become accustomed to it. His sleep clothes have fared better, but his robes from yesterday will need a lot of attention. They’re still out in the living space and can be dealt with later.

Ben hangs his clothing on the rack in the sonic, and climbs in after them. He sets the sonic to run for a minute and cringes as it starts up. The sensation is truly disgusting.

Dani has rationed his pot of water carefully, and Ben uses what’s left to finish his ablutions, then rinses his mouth with paste and wash.

All done, he feels a little more human. Better still, there’s an interesting smell drifting in from the stove. It seems his fear of Dani running off was unfounded - he’s kept his promise of making breakfast. Ben reminds himself that Dani asked for the opportunity to do so. Being guilty will not do him any favours.

Ben pulls on his cleaned sleep clothes, and slips back into the living space to see what Dani has created.

Anakin was never a particularly inventive cook. Dani is far better, which is a mark against him being some Force creation or clone of Anakin. Either that, or Anakin has picked up the skill as Dani, and is revealing some hidden talent.

Dani provides him with a plate of neatly folded, crepe-thin omelettes, smeared with fruit preserves. More importantly, he seems to have dug out some caf, and pushes a steaming mug into Ben’s hand. Ben is pleased to see that Dani has made food for himself too - he hadn’t even expected Ben to feed him last night.

Ben eschews the table again, and leads Dani to the rug to eat. Sat on the floor, with his mug beside him, and Dani knelt opposite, Ben feels a sense of nostalgia creep over him. Anakin and he had spent many mornings such as this in the temple, drinking tea on the meditation mat in their shared quarters, as he and Qui-Gon had done during his own apprenticeship.

Dani seems to sense the odd formality stealing into the situation. He sits straight backed, and his breathing slowly falls in time with Obi-Wan’s.

As with Anakin, it seems there’s only so much formality Dani can handle. He digs into his omelettes messily, smearing preserves across his plate. Ben follows suit, with vigour. His appetite is voracious, and he eats with pleasure.

“Thank you,” says Ben, a little stiffly. “These are good.”

Dani smiles brightly. “No problem. I’m glad. You should eat more,” he adds, shoveling one of his own crepes on to Ben’s plate.

Ben glares at him. There he is again, subtly establishing his control of the situation.

“I will, thank you. But I think - I think we need to talk about your purpose here.”

Dani’s face darkens, and he meets Ben’s eyes somewhat anxiously.

“Sure,” he says, and attacks his food aggressively with his fork.

Ben coughs awkwardly. “You might have supposed by now that I don’t truly have much of a purpose for you here. I, ah, _obtained_ you-”

“You bought me,” Dani says sharply.

Ben flushes with embarrassment. “-Well, yes. I bought you. I bought you without any intent or need-”

“You made a mistake. Are you going to get rid of me?”

“No! No. I acted with haste, but I would still make the same choice now-”

Dani’s eyes narrow. “What’s your point then, _old man_?”

“The point is, _Padawan_ , that while you are here there are certain rules that you _will_ abide by.”

Ben realises his mistake too late, but his slip doesn’t seem to have registered with Dani, who stares back at him, eyes dark and flickering.

“What _are_ the rules, then? You haven’t exactly made those clear, have you?”

Ben takes another sip of caf, trying to calm himself.

“The rules are simple. One, you will not harm my anooba-”

“As if I would.”

“ _Nevertheless_. Two, you will not leave the home or its perimeter, which includes the ranges out to the north and the valley where the bantha graze. You most certainly will not approach the local towns.”

“Sure, no leaving. What else?”

Other than staying put and not hurting the anooba, Ben honestly can’t think of anything. “Well - that’s it really. Don’t damage the house, don’t overuse provisions - you’re not unintelligent, I’m sure you can work it out.”

“So that’s it, stay here and do nothing?” Dani grouses.

“Yes.”

“Whatever. Seems pretty useless to me, but if you insist.”

“I do.”

They lapse into awkward silence for a while, Dani digging at his eggs and Ben sipping his caf, trying to avoid the need to justify himself.

Around this time, he usually completes his morning rituals. There is work to do around the house, the water needs to be harvested, and Dani’s bandages need changing. But the lethargy of heat is stealing back over him. A tremble is starting in his fingers, and the respite that sleep brought him is wearing off.

Arguing with Dani seemed like a satisfying distraction at the time, but now his pulse is elevated and his body flooded with adrenaline. The fight or flight instinct left over from their argument is mixing with his more primal urges, begging him to taunt the Alpha, to instigate a chase.

He should spend some time meditating, perhaps. He could probably teach Dani, that would give him something to do, at least.

Dani finished the last of his eggs, and pushes his plate away.

“So what did you do?” he asks, fixing Ben with a disseminating look.

“What do you mean?”

“Fake name, place in the middle of nowhere, no contact with the people round here… you’re hiding out.”

“I, ah, may have had some trouble with law enforcement recently,”

Dani grins. “Law enforcement? On Tatooine?”

“It may be on a slightly grander scale than that,” Ben admits. He really shouldn’t be sharing this much, but if Dani understands the gravity of the situation, he may be more inclined to go by Ben’s rules.

“So you’re some kind of galactic criminal? Galaxy’s most wanted?” Dani laughs. He’s settling, slipping out of the tense, kneeling posture he’d maintained through their breakfast into a kind of lazy sprawl.

“You might say so,” says Ben, unable to resist the drama of the story.

“Don’t worry, old man. I won’t give you away.”

His words are flippant, but Ben senses a sincerity to them beneath the laughter in his eyes.

“Make sure you don’t,” he teases, his eyes creasing with humour. “You know, I’m hardly that old.”

Dani raises his eyebrows. “Going a little grey there, aren’t you?”

“That’s just stress! Most of which can be attributed to _you_!”

“Me? You just met me!” Dani says, playing at affronted. His eyes sparkle.

Ben hides a wince. He keeps forgetting he’s not talking to Anakin. “Exactly my point. I looked ten years younger, yesterday morning.”

“I’m sure,” Dani replies.”Um, exactly how old are you?”

“Forty three,” Ben says, feeling slightly awkward.

“Huh,” Dani seems a little pensive, and Ben senses a slight disturbance pass over him.

“Are you alright?” Ben asks.

“It’s nothing - I just. I don’t really know how old I am.”

“Mid twenties, I expect,” Ben replies. “So, far too young for me.”

Dani pushes himself up, sliding a little closer to Ben. He reaches out, brushing his fingers through the greying scruff of Ben’s hair. “Not really,” he says, and his voice comes out rich and purring.

Ben swallows. Dani is proving adept at stirring him up, and seems to be going to great pains to do so. Perhaps this is his little revenge for Ben’s enforcement of his meager rules.

“Please, Dani,” he says seriously. “If you keep on at me like that I’m not sure what I’ll do.”

Dani narrows his eyes. For a moment he looks almost hurt, but Ben is sure that’s just wishful thinking.

“You know, you should probably just get it over with.”

Ben sighs. It’s not like the offer isn’t tempting, especially with Dani bearing down on him, practically flattening him back against the wall. The memory of the soft nip of his teeth on his collar this morning is particularly vivid.

Ben braces his hands against Dani’s bandage covered chest.

“Dani, how you feel about this now may not be a reflection of your true thoughts. Please.”

Dani shuffles closer, insinuating a thigh between Ben’s legs. “Come on, Ben. I thought you were handsome before, too.”

“Before what?” Ben asks, somewhat warily.

Dani rolls his eyes. “Before you bought me. Come on, let me do this for you.”

Ben groans. Oh, it’s not that he doesn’t want it. He could let this happen so easily. What Dani is saying is true - he could be done with this by now. With his thoughts cleared, he could actually start working towards solving the problem Dani presents. He at least wouldn’t have to suffer through a week of _this_.

His patience is wearing, and Dani keeps making him feel like everything would be okay if he just got this over with. In a way, perhaps it would be the more sensible action. Ben can’t honestly say that in all his years at the temple, he wouldn’t have taken up a willing offer, had he ever been subjected to a heat.

But Dani isn’t truly willing. Or at least, Ben can’t be sure of that. There are any number of forces acting on him - Ben’s heat pushing him towards rut, and the simple fact that Ben _owns_ him, being the most significant. Of course he wants to please Ben, simple self preservation would compel him to do so, never mind the biological imperative.

For that reason, he pushes Dani back, gently and kindly, so as not to cause hurt.

“And I’m sure I’d enjoy it very much. But now is not the time.”

Dani rolls his eyes, and Ben can hear the ‘ _when is_ ’ echoed in the Force.

“Come,” Ben says, business like. “Let me check your bandages, yes?”

“If you gotta,” Dani sighs, and Ben takes that as a victory.

Dani settles cross legged on the rug while Ben unwinds his bandages. The bacta has seeped in during the night, and the skin that looked raw and painful yesterday is darkening to a healthier colour.

Dani allows his fussing patiently.

“Stay here,” Ben instructs. In the washroom, he keeps gel from one of the desert plants that grows among the canyons. The locals have long used it to cool burned skin. He can’t afford to use more of the bacta, but he should at least be able to soothe Dani somewhat.

Dani watches him curiously as he scoops a little of the fresh smelling gel from his clay pot. Ben kneels behind him, and daubs it onto the hot skin.

Dani hisses. “ _Cold,_ ” he complains, affronted.

“That’s the point, little one,” Ben replies, swallowing a laugh and glad that Dani can’t see it.

Ben leaves the bacta patches as they are. They’ll take at least another day or more to do their work. He concentrates instead on rubbing the gel into Dani’s exposed skin. The contact feels good, and he can’t help but seek a little relief in it.

In the light of day, he can’t avoid the fact that this isn’t just about his heat. He’s been desperately alone for close to five years now. The thought that Anakin has been returned to him is beyond his ability to bear without emotion. It’s attachment, of course, but that has always been his flaw. Five years, with his will weakened by the heat… he can’t avoid a little self indulgence.

Dani hisses as Ben’s thumb passes over a particularly tense knot in his back. Ben can’t resist pressing down, and Dani hums delightedly. Ben swallows. He slides his palms firmly down the defined musculature to either side of Dani’s spine. There is evidence of old strength there.

Dani purrs softly. “You can keep doing that. I spent all yesterday bunched up, I feel like a rusty droid.”

“If you wish,” Ben replies before he can stop himself.

He has plenty of gel, so he applies a little more to ease his movements, smoothing over Dani’s stiff muscles, and pressing little circles wherever he finds evidence of tenseness. Dani purrs and chirps, and outright moans as Ben chases down the little hard spots and focuses on them to relieve the tension.

Eventually he seems to soften under Ben’s fingers, moving liquidly at his touch. Ben pulls him round gently to half lie between Ben’s legs and Dani follows his touch, pliant and pleased.

His chest still needs attention with the gel, so Ben slicks his hands over the skin there. Dani’s eyes are dark. He fixes Ben with a heavy, wanting look, playful and ever so slightly dangerous. Ben is reminded of Anakin, at his most fey and charming.

“My legs are sunburned too,” says Dani.

They are. Ben gestures at the sleeping platform. “Sit there. I can reach you better.”

Dani pulls himself to his feet with catlike grace, and leans back languorously amongst Ben’s pillows. Ben follows him to the bed, and it seems like the most simple thing in the world to seat himself on the floor to attend to Dani’s injured legs.

He drops himself to his knees. Dani looks down at him imperiously, a pleased smirk tilting the corners of his lips.

Dani’s feet are pink from the sun, and the soles are cracked and torn in places. Ben layers on the gel, gliding his hands up Dani’s calves in long, firm sweeps. Dani leans forward over him, watching him as he works.

Ben switches from one leg to the other, feeling himself drift slightly, in an almost meditative trance. The hunger of his heat gnaws at him, but he finds it a little easier to ignore. Being close to the Alpha seems to have that effect. The sensation is maddening, but some part of him takes it as a cue to relax - someone else is in charge.

As he circles his thumbs down the creased arch of Dani’s foot, and finds himself looking at a tiny freckle there. It’s utterly mundane. A brown spot amidst the pink flesh. One he has seen probably a thousand times before.

His hands still.

“Ben?”

Obi-Wan looks up. He is certain now, without a doubt, that this must be Anakin. A clone, an element of the Force, the genuine article miraculously restored - he could be any of these things, but without doubt, this is him. If he could meditate for more than a few moments without interference from his body, he might be able to tell more.

He owes Anakin the truth. After everything that happened on Mustafar, he can’t let this closeness continue without explaining in some way.

“Yesterday, when I said you look very much like my old friend, I don’t know if I was entirely truthful.”

Dani is silent for a long moment. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that you look _very_ much like him. Identical, from the colour of your hair to the placement of your freckles - the only thing different is the scars.”

And the presence of his flesh limbs, he doesn’t say.

Dani rests a hand on Ben’s head, dragging his fingers through his hair. The scratching of his fingers through hair still stiff from the sonic sends little electric prickles down Ben’s spine.

“So I look like your friend. Does that matter? Especially if I don’t remember it.”

“But what if you _do_ remember it?” Ben beseeches him.

“What if I don’t?”

Ben steels himself. “It’s not that you just look like him. I honestly believe that you are him.”

The movement of Dani’s fingers in his hair falters. “Is that any different?” he asks.

“ _Yes,_ ” says Obi-Wan fervently. How can he explain their tumultuous history to this practical stranger? Dani has known him for less than a day. How can Obi-Wan expect him to understand the magnitude of what has passed between them?

“Why?” says Dani. Obi-Wan looks away. Or at least he tries to. Dani’s fingers curl tightly in his hair, forcing him to look up.

“I don’t know if you would agree to-” Obi-Wan gestures expansively “- _This._ All of this.”

Dani tilts his head. His fingers curl tighter, ever so slightly painful.

“We- we didn’t part on the best of terms,” Obi-Wan sighs, feeling defeated somehow. He’d hoped to protect Dani from the worst of their fraught relationship. No doubt he will curse himself later. He’s let things get too far, and now they are, once again, both paying for it.

“Would you apologise, if you could?” Dani asks.

Obi-Wan stares up at him. There’s a lot of things he wouldn’t apologise for. Anakin made his choices, and is the only one responsible for the path that took him down. But with five years hindsight, Obi-Wan is well acquainted with his own failures, and the part he played in Anakin’s fall.

“Yes,” he says, heartfelt. “There isn’t a day I don’t regret the part I played. I did so many things wrong. So much of it was my fault…”

He trails off. Dani is quiet, and Obi-Wan busies himself with Dani’s legs again, more for something to do.

“It sounds like I did something,” Dani says softly. “something you blame yourself for.”

Obi-Wan sighs. He needs to steer Dani away from this path before he does himself too much damage, or something surfaces past the amnestics.

“What makes you says that?” he asks, after some deliberation.

Dani’s lips twist in a wry grin. “I can tell by the way you’re talking. And you blame yourself for everything, even when it’s my fault.”

Obi-Wan laughs hollowly. “Well, it is my fault.”

“Stop that.” Dani tugs viciously on Ben’s hair. “Come on, your turn,”

Ben smooths his hands one last time over Dani’s skin.

He’s made a mess of himself again, the contact stirring his arousal until he’s loose and sticky. His stomach tightens. Despite the seriousness of the conversation, his body is insistent. If this continues, they’re going to mate. Ben knows it without a doubt. Dani’s eyes are still full of that dark, hungry look.

He knows it too.

Ben finds that he doesn’t really want to disagree. He’s turned Dani down so many times now, and Dani keeps coming back to him.

“If you remembered,” Ben says hesitantly, one last pass at dissuading him, “you might not want any part in this.”

Dani smirks. “What does it matter? I might never remember anything.”

“You might.”

“We’ll deal with it then. Come here.”

He pulls Ben close, maneuvering him to kneel on the mattress.

“Stay,” he says.

Ben stays. Dani slides off the bed and pads to Ben’s storage crates. From there, he fishes out the jar of oil Ben bought.

“Hope you don’t mind if I use this? I don’t want to waste any more of your medicine.”

Ben nods, not quite trusting himself to think, never mind speak.

Dani’s fingers curl into the laces of Ben’s shirt, tugging it open. He hooks his fingers under the hem. Ben raises his arms obediently and Dani pulls it over his head. The key to the chest that contains Anakin’s lightsaber knocks against his collarbone. Dani lifts that over his head too, and hangs it on a hook on the wall where Ben usually puts his cloak.

Ben is relieved to be rid of it.

Dani settles on to the bed behind him, bracing his back against the wall and shifting Ben to kneel between his legs. Ben listens as Dani opens the pot, to the slick noise as Dani scoops a handful of oil. The oil is sweetly fragrant, solid until it melts into the skin. Dani presses his fingers onto Ben’s shoulders, smoothing down over the planes of his back, fingers trailing softly down to his waist.

Ben groans, feeling the swell of his arousal at even such a delicate touch. He stays still and says nothing.

“Good,” says Dani gently. “Good boy.”

Ben shivers.

Dani’s hands drift back to his shoulders, then his thumbs circle with firm, even pressure down his spine. Ben lets himself enjoy it, feeling tense but happy, like the moment could shatter in seconds.

Dully, he register’s Dani’s hands sliding up his spine, and then a hand settling on the back of his neck. The pressure is blissful. His fingers spread over the base of Ben’s skull, and he presses down.

Ben follows the guiding touch, bending over his knees until his forehead is pressed against the wooly fabric of his bedding. His mind empties, worry pouring away as his body responds to the most primitive functions of his hindbrain.

Dani slides his hand down in one fluid movement, smoothing down the curve of his back. He dips his fingers beneath the waist of Ben’s sleep pants to trail between the cheeks of his ass. Ben grinds his teeth and curls his fingers into the blankets, simultaneously writhing with horrifically embarrassed modesty, and desperate for the touch to dip lower still.

Dani purrs, low and soft. “You do want this, right?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Ben sobs, ashamed and desperate. He’s wanted this since the moment he saw Dani in that awful marketplace, since before then, even. Every sick, star forsaken second of his previous unmet heats, spent longing and lonely and desperate for this, exactly this, his dear, sweet Anakin here for him, to care for him.

Dani rubs a soft circle on the small of his back. “Come on, take these off,” he says, flipping the band of Ben’s sleep pants.

Ben sits up, jerkily and hooks his fingers into the waistband of his pants. His mind churns with embarrassment, cataloguing his harrow hips and unmanicured appearance.

“Go on,” says Dani, and he smiles coaxingly, though something predatory lurks behind his eyes. Ben stalls, caught on the precipice. If this goes one moment further, he’s not going to stop. He’s already gone too far. Ben’s not sure he could stop this now, even if he wanted to.

He fumbles with his pants, rigid and clumsy with indignity. Somehow his mortification pushes him on where usually it would stay his hands. A hot flush spreads over his cheeks and down his neck, over his shoulders. He kicks his pants off mechanically, trying not to register the action for what it is. As he slips the waistband down his ass, his cock springs free, swollen and weeping.

“Okay,” says Dani, very gently. He settles his palm on Ben’s hip. “Come closer.”

His voice is mesmerizing, commanding and calming at the same time.

Ben shuffles round to face Dani, inching towards him on his knees. Dani spreads his long legs down the length of the bed, and pats a space on the cushions beside him, next to the wall.

“Closer,” he repeats.

Ben gives in. He kneels down beside Dani, wondering what he’s planning.

“Lie down,” says Dani, smoothing the blankets beside him. “Lie down, Obi-Wan.”

His body is moving for him, sliding him down into the blankets and cushions, before the gut punch really registers. Ben chokes. Horror and shame intermingle with furious lust, and he turns his face into the pillows to hide his reaction. He finds himself spreading out on his front, hands curling into the bedding.

His body works without conscious thought, propelling him forwards into this encounter while his mind works furiously to process the situation.

How much does Anakin know? What does he remember? Slim bites of insight occasionally slip past the grasp of even the strongest amnestics. How much? Stars, let it not be too much. Obi-Wan pants, unconscious of whatever Anakin is doing while his mind works furiously to understand what has just happened.

“Good, Master, good,” Anakin purrs. His hands slide down Obi-Wan’s shoulders, his back. Anakin’s thumbs dig into the cheeks of his ass.

Early memories tend to come back first. While perhaps that would be better than the alternative, the thought of his Padawan, with only the scant memories of their early years to judge him by, staring down at his naked, lust wrecked body is enough to make Obi-Wan want to scream, to lash out, to curl up and hide himself.

His body is beyond that, and he arches into Anakin’s touch, trying to guide him where he needs him most.

Rustling cloth - Anakin stripping. Still reeling, Obi-Wan cannot resist as Anakin settles between his thighs. The world takes on a surreal edge.

“Pretty,” says Anakin, light and airy, as if he hasn’t just torn Obi-Wan apart. “I meant it, you know. I always thought so.”

So that was what he meant by ‘before you bought me’.

Anakin runs his fingers over Obi-Wan’s ass, thighs, the backs of his knees. Obi-Wan shivers, skin twitching. Half mad with panic and guilt, he tries again to summon the will to end this now. His body is insistent, frantic for release, and will not move as he needs it to. As much as he knows he should stop, a stronger part of him wants to see it through. This is happening.

Besides, in rut he probably couldn’t stop Anakin even if he wanted.

Heart thumping and lust dazed, he allows Anakin to push his legs apart. Fingers dip down to probe his loosening, dripping hole.

Anakin sighs happily. “Hmm. I can’t believe you held this off so long, Master. You must be half crazy by now, right?”

Obi-Wan nods awkwardly in agreement, wordless with humiliation but too anxious to disagree.

Anakin’s weight shifts behind him. Obi-Wan groans as his fingers slip away. He tilts his hips, longing to be filled. He is achingly, viciously glad that his Anakin is here with him.

“It’s alright, Master. I’m here. I’m going to take care of you.”

A hand in his hair, and a pregnant pause.

“Don’t be afraid,” Anakin hums. “You’re not afraid, are you. You want this.”

Obi-Wan nods, as much as he is able to with Anakin’s fingers wrapped around his hair, holding him still.

He feels the brush of something broader than a finger and hot - Anakin’s cock. Obi-Wan clenches his jaw, preparing for pain.

“Relax. I’m here,” Anakin murmurs. Obi-Wan does as asked, both self preservation, and in autonomic response to the Alpha’s command and reassurance.

Anakin bends down low over him, until his lips brush against Obi-Wan’s ear. Prickles rise along the back of his neck, a warning Obi-Wan has no will to respond to.

“I’m here,” Anakin croons again, soft and malicious. “And I remember everything, Master. _Everything_.”

Obi-Wan stiffens with panic, scrabbling his hands against the sheets, trying to find purchase to pull his uncooperative body away. But Anakin is already there, pushing into him, agonisingly, wonderfully large.

“Shh, Master,” he hushes, so gentle it’s cruel.

“ _Anakin_ ,” Obi-Wan sobs, eyes watering, terrified and wanting. Flesh slides against flesh as he is filled. He aches, burning and uncomfortable and relieved. His hips twitch, jerking back to impale himself on Anakin’s stiff length, even as his mind begs him to flee.

His Anakin, his Padawan, his treacherous, violent, best beloved friend. He wants this to stop, to keep going. He wants to reach back, and see Anakin’s gentle, lovestruck face. Imagines instead those golden, mad, dark-stained eyes staring down at him.

Anakin lifts his hand away from Obi-Wan’s hair to rub small, comforting circles between his shoulderblades. The Alpha moves to Obi-Wan’s hips, tugging him half up, onto his knees. Obi-Wan goes with the movement, and Anakin rewards him by slipping a hand down the front of his abdomen to grip his aching cock.

“Look at you, Master,” Anakin sighs, eminently pleased with himself. “On your knees for me.” He nips a trail of angry, sucking kisses down Obi-Wan’s back.”My Master. _Mine_.”

He smears his thumb over the tip of Obi-Wan’s cock, rewarding compliance with electric, white hot pleasure. Obi-Wan shakes with the intensity of it, groaning.

“You are mine, aren’t you?” Anakin demands. He rocks, swelling inside Obi-Wan until he is torturously thick, practically more than Obi-Wan can bear and still not enough.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan gasps, too overwhelmed and hardly in a position to give any other answer. Somehow, he desperately needs Anakin deeper. He’s not sure what to do - this is the first time. He needs more, and he’s not sure how to get it.

“Tell me,” Anakin growls. “Tell me you belong to me.”

“I’m yours,” Obi-Wan begs, tense, shivering with pain and clenched to reject the invasion his body is desperate to accept. “Please, _Anakin!_ ”

“Then, _give yourself to me_ ,” Anakin snarls, hand curled around Obi-Wan’s cock, manipulating him with cruel insistent strokes. He sinks his teeth into Obi-Wan’s shoulder, hard enough to draw blood.

Obi-Wan wails quietly, trying to muffle the sound in his bedding. But Anakin has asked for him - words are not enough. So he gives into it, heaving shuddering breaths as he forces himself to relax. The sting of the bite in his shoulder becomes a tolerable counterpoint to the ache in his groin. His body slackens, he loosens inside, some final resistance giving way as he surrenders the last portion of himself that wants this to stop. Anakin, his Alpha, his beloved, is there to receive it.

Anakin groans as he seats himself deeply, sighing with relief. He laps at the wound on Obi-Wan’s shoulder, snuffling gently at the skin.

Obi-Wan breathes, chest hitching and heaving as he swallows gasps of air. His eyes water, dripping down his cheeks and over his nose. It hurts, but better now, not unlike the stretch of limbs during a hard fight. It feels good.

Anakin nips a tiny kiss to Obi-Wan’s shoulder, affectionate and spiteful. “Are you worried, Master, about how you will keep me here?” He rocks, hand slicking over Obi-Wan’s cock in velvety, unhurried movements. “Are you planning how you will contain me? Do you think, perhaps, this will be enough?”

“Perhaps,” Obi-Wan gasps, shuddering. “That hurts,” he adds, as Anakin rocks inside him, teasing at his entrance and forcing him wider still.

He expects a pleased laugh, or perhaps some other indication that Anakin is delighted with this confession. Instead, Anakin gentles him, fingers fluffing through his hair.

“Shh, Master. You’re alright, aren’t you?”

Somehow, the unexpected kindness is too much. “Yes,” Obi-Wan says, and sobs, crying openly now, tears dripping down his face and staining the blankets.

“I know, Master. I know,” Anakin groans, his own breath hitching and shaking. His hands settle on Obi-Wan’s shoulders, holding him steady and keeping him down.

Obi-Wan drifts for a time, feeling light and peaceful as the tangle wound tight in his chest pulls taut and finally snaps apart. Anakin moves above him, rocking him gently and sending bursts of painful pleasure up and down his spine.

“Will you come for me, Master? Please?” Anakin purrs.

“Of course,” says Obi-Wan, finding the strength to sound courtly.

“Come on, Master,” Anakin cajoles, his movements gentle and insistent. His thumb slides over the head of Obi-Wan’s cock, milking him with warm, soft movements. Obi-Wan is too tense, too addled with mortification and pleasure to find release.

“For me,” Anakin croons.

Somehow that makes things simpler. A few seconds more and he comes, spots bursting in front of his eyes. Anakin hushes him, soothing him through his climax. Anakin’s words stutter and grow unsteady as he tips over the edge himself, devolving into a meaningless chatter of praise.

Obi-Wan sinks forward into the pillows, thighs aching. Anakin collapses over him, still buried to the hilt. Obi-Wan grasps for Anakin’s hand - which is soft, human, and sticky with Obi-Wan’s fluid.

Obi-Wan realises he is shaking, desperate for comfort which only Anakin is currently available to provide. Anakin lets him pant and gasp, smoothing his other hand through Obi-Wan’s hair until his heart rate has calmed.

They lie still for some time as Anakin softens, breathing together in a way that is almost meditative. Eventually, Anakin pulls out, leaving Obi-Wan oddly bereft and empty where he’d expected to feel relief.

The Alpha stretches back over him, heavy and languorous as he was in the morning. “There, Master. Is that not better?”

“I suppose,” Obi-Wan agrees.

They lie together, and Obi-Wan attempts to master himself. He rotates between heavy relief and desperate panic. What is Anakin doing? Does he really remember it all?

He spoke with such malice. He must remember it. He found an opportunity to wound Obi-Wan at his most vulnerable, and took it.

He purrs like a cat, chin resting on Obi-Wan’s shoulder, petting his side with unconscious affection. Too confused to understand, Obi-Wan closes his eyes and clings to his Alpha.

This isn’t what was meant to happen. Dani - Dani was meant to happen. Dani had been playful and sweet, and Obi-Wan realises he was invested in that. He wonders how much of it was a lie.

When had Anakin remembered?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains explicit scenes of sexual situations entered into with poorly negotiated consent. Sex happens under false pretenses, which are revealed during the scene with intention to cause distress. This encompases and surpasses standard A/B/O drama.
> 
> So, a couple of notes at the end of this chapter. Firstly, I've been super on the fence about how thoroughly to tag and warn for this chapter. On the one hand, I wanted to keep it surprising and fresh. On the other... I think it gets pretty intense, and I don't want anyone straying in to that when they're not prepared! If you have any thoughts on this, let me know.
> 
> Secondly, and perhaps more importantly, all credit in this chapter goes to Kaiserine/Aramanthis who really lead the way in plot development, and dropped the, uh, bomb on me in much the same way it's dropped here. I hope it works out in this fic, as well as it worked in development! I've been so excited to share it!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Obi-Wan is just plain overwrought, and Anakin wishes he'd get over it.

Obi-Wan is warm and perfect, and Anakin rests above him for some time, his cheek on the sun-browned planes of Obi-Wan's shoulders and his long limbs plastered to Obi-Wan's, holding him down and keeping him safe, secure. Obi-Wan is shaking - Anakin doesn't blame him, he expected Obi-Wan to be shocked. Obi-Wan grasps at his hand, and seems happy to lie still. He smells warm, sweet, sedated. The cloying, musky scent of his heat is still thick in the air, but Anakin can ignore it now, as the chemical rush of completion eases the mad pressure of rut.

Obi-Wan's shoulders shudder with heavy, choking breaths. Anakin wonders if Obi-Wan is crying. He should be - he has a lot to be sorry for. Anakin has taken him by surprise, and no doubt Obi-Wan is coming to terms with what Anakin told him. Magnanimously, Anakin decides to allow Obi-Wan the privacy to deal with his emotions without questioning him. There's been a lot for him to take in, and Anakin supposes he's done well, letting Anakin take care of him

Besides, quizzing Obi-Wan about what's got him so messed up that he feels deeply enough about it to cry - and Anakin has seen Obi-Wan cry about three times in his entire life - would do nothing but disrupt the mood. He'd rather just stay here and soak it in. Obi-Wan has finally let him in, after over a decade of foolishly pushing him away. After all the hurt, pain and betrayal he put Anakin through.

Now Anakin knows - Obi-Wan always loved him, and loves him still. Obi-Wan has asked for his forgiveness, and he's begun paying for the hurt he caused Anakin. He's finally proved that he means it, physically and emotionally.

Anakin rakes a hand through Obi-Wan's sweat soaked hair, and basks in his warmth, in the pliant, firm texture of his skin. He rubs soothing lines up and down his Omega's side, from shoulder to hip, and revels in the play of muscle and bone beneath his palm.

He never really expected things to go quite this far. But Obi-Wan's the one who put them in this position. He knew what he was getting the into, buying an Alpha, right on the edge of heat. Now Anakin is helping him deal with the consequences. He has no doubt that Obi-Wan feels better - already his shaking is ceasing, and his breathing is returning to a steady, even tempo. Anakin can sense his contentment in the Force - a peace that is clouded by Obi-Wan's constant worrying, but peace nonetheless.

Looming over his Omega, flattening him into the pillows, Anakin finally starts to feel like everything will be alright. He's going to see Obi-Wan through his heat, and then they'll figure everything else out together. As a team. The team.

For now, all he has to do is make sure Obi-Wan doesn't upset himself too much, which Anakin seems to be doing a good job of so far. Obi-Wan's muscles are relaxing, and he's showing no desire to move. His submission to his Alpha is perfect (if hesitant), bought with just the right amount of shock, pleasure and nurturing pain.

Unfortunately, neither of them can stay like this forever. Anakin's thighs are a mess of sticky juices. If he feels uncomfortable, Obi-Wan must feel worse. As the Alpha, it's his job to take charge and care for his mate.

With regret, he forces himself to roll off his Omega. Obi-Wan stays still - almost stock still, in fact, so Anakin pads into the bathroom alone. There's still a little water left in the pot from their morning ablutions. Anakin dampens a rag hanging next to the sonic, and rubs himself down in brisk, no nonsense movements so as not to stir his arousal. The coolness of the water is pleasant and cleansing on his sweat slick skin.

Out in the main room, Obi-Wan has remained totally silent. Growing worried, Anakin finishes up quickly. He takes a cup of water from the tiny kitchen area then heads back to the bed, bringing the pot and rag with him.

Obi-Wan has pushed up onto his elbows, and Anakin is pleased to see he's watching the door to the wash room intensely. Waiting for the return of his Alpha, no doubt. He glances away when Anakin grins at him, then seems to change his mind, and meets Anakin's eyes with a smile that looks pained.

He'll be alright, Anakin reminds himself. He's probably still shocked. It's Anakin's job to soothe him. Heat is difficult, emotional, and Obi-Wan has probably never felt like this in his life before. No doubt his poor, repressed Master is having an awful time dealing with all of those strong, undeniable emotions. Anakin laughs quietly to himself.

Obi-Wan flops onto his back, watching expressionlessly as Anakin approaches him with the washcloth. His eyes are red rimmed and puffy, and his face is covered in pink blotches. He really has been crying, and it feels immensely satisfying to know that he's finally managed to needle past Obi-Wan's hard shelled exterior and bring out the tenderness beneath.

Anakin cleans him delicately, wiping away the clear, rich scented fluid of his heat, and the pearly come slowly leaking down his legs. Some of it is stained pink - a little bleeding, regrettable but to be expected. Obi-Wan's expression barely flickers. He seems shuttered, or far away. Anakin tilts Obi-Wan’s head up, and tips the cup of clean water to his mouth. Obi-Wan drains it greedily. Anakin pets his hair, then climbs up beside him, and Obi-Wan lets himself be scooped in close. Anakin folds Obi-Wan up in his arms, his head nestled on Anakin's chest.

Obi-Wan pets his shoulder, almost absently. It's soothing, sweet. Obi-Wan clings to him and buries his face in Anakin's skin, searching for comfort from his Alpha. Anakin lets him. Obi-Wan will probably pull himself together soon, and try and pack all his inconvenient feelings away behind bluster and pomp.

Well, now they both know the truth. Obi-Wan has no choice but to accept it: Obi-Wan gave himself to Anakin, not some fictitious imposter. Obi-Wan knew the truth and he went through with it anyway - maybe even because of it. In fact, that seems likely.

Anakin has been able to sense Obi-Wan's loneliness since the moment he first saw him in the marketplace. Obi-Wan liked Dani, and Anakin will miss being him. But Dani was a lie, and Anakin is certain that Obi-Wan would choose the truth over Dani any day. As Obi-Wan falls into a light dose, his loneliness seems eased.

Telling Obi-Wan had been a spur of the moment thing, a risk. He hadn't known when he might get another chance to see Obi-Wan so open, so willing to accept him. As far as Anakin can tell, it's paid off perfectly. Obi-Wan might be shocked and scared - he deserves to be, for what he did. But he's also here, allowing himself to be held. Claimed. He belongs to Anakin now, and there's no way he can dispute it.

Anakin means to let Obi-Wan sleep as long as he wants to. But he feels too wound up, his mind running through the same questions he's been worrying about ever since he got here.

Forty-Three. Obi-Wan said he was forty three, which means it's been five, maybe six years since they last spoke.

Which leaves three or more years unaccounted for. The last thing he remembers-

Don't think about it.

Anakin swallows, shifting uncomfortably. Obi-Wan grumbles, looking up at him with sleepy, irritated eyes.

Anakin grins down at him, and Obi-Wan looks away, colour high in his cheeks. No need to think about the past when the present is proving so much more delightful. Anakin's limbs are loose with satisfaction, and the heat of the afternoon is slowly creeping out of the room. His Omega is curled up in his arms, and there's nothing Anakin needs to do other than take care of him.

"That was good," Anakin says, shuffling to sit up properly without letting go. "I'm hungry. Aren't you hungry, Master?"

Obi-Wan struggles out of Anakin's grasp - Anakin knows he has to let go, but he can't resist teasing. When he's finally free, Obi-Wan pushes himself up onto his elbows, and from there, on to his knees. He moves slowly, as if in pain, and winces as he meets Anakin's eyes, the corners of his lips tilted down.

But the moment passes, and a sad, sincere smile breaks over Obi-Wan's face. Anakin beams back at him, happy and relieved. He's been dreading Obi-Wan's inevitable rejection since he'd first really came to, in the speeder. The memories that had flooded back into him the first moment he saw Obi-Wan in the market place had, once settled, left him with a sensation of terrible dread.

But with Obi-Wan truly ready and willing, and seemingly happy, to accept him as Anakin, he no longer needs that dread. Anakin will miss being simple, uncomplicated Dani. But he stopped really being Dani the moment he saw Obi-Wan. It's just taken them both this long to accept it.

"I suppose I should feed you," Obi-Wan grouses, hitting right on that note of teasing banter Anakin has missed so much.

He's back to putting on the charm to preserve his pride. Anakin forgives him - it's not like he can forget what his Master looks like spread out and pleading beneath him.

"You should," Anakin replies, watching lazily as Obi-Wan stands and pulls back on his sleep clothes.

Dani spent the last two years running around doing the bidding of other people. It's about time someone did the same in return. So, despite his resolution to care for his Omega, Anakin is hardly going to stop him doing some of the running around.

Obi-Wan seems happier with his clothes back on - putting as many layers between himself and other people, as typical. Anakin flops back into the cushions, watching Obi-Wan bustle around the stove with shaking hands, making tea and cutting up slices of sweet bread. Anakin's stomach growls - he hasn't really eaten anything outside unappetising porridge since the weird guy who liked to hand feed him fruit.

Obi-Wan's provisions seem a little extravagant. Perhaps he's an impulse buyer close to heat, that might explain why he thought it was a good idea to buy a slave.

As Obi-Wan brings the tray out, he glances at the trunk he'd got the bacta and bandages out of. The key is still hung on the wall, and Anakin wonders exactly what's in it that's got Obi-Wan so jumpy. Anakin sits up as Obi-Wan passes, expecting him to set the tray on the small table beside the sleeping nook, but instead, Obi-Wan takes it back to the mat they've eaten all their previous meals on.

Obi-Wan sits by the tray, back slumped against the wall of their little hut. He seems reduced somehow, both by the paucity of his environment, and in his posture.

Anakin slips off the bed and settles close next to him. Obi-Wan stiffens at the contact, then slowly relaxes, presumably allowing himself the simple pleasure of human contact. Anakin hopes that one day soon he won't feel the instinctual need to reject what brings him comfort.

Obi-Wan has set the tray neatly with a little tea set of blue and white enamel. His old set, made of clay and handed down by Qui-Gon Jinn, is probably still back at the palace.

For a moment, Anakin imagines seeking it out - metallic fingers curling around and crushing the delicate pottery - no. Don't think about it.

Obi-Wan continues to stare at the tea set, seemingly lost in thought.

"Do you want some tea?" Anakin asks, when Obi-Wan makes no move to pour it.

Obi-Wan doesn't seem to hear him.

"Well do you, Master?"

“Pardon?” Obi-Wan asks, a little dumbly.

Anakin rolls his eyes. “Whatever,” he says, and picks the teapot up, pouring a generous serving into each of their cups.

“Oh - ah. Thank you,” says Obi-Wan, wincing with embarrassment.

Anakin grins at him, and picks up his cup to take a sip. he immediately spits it back into the cup.

“Oh, urgh!”

Obi-Wan glares at him. “Don’t _spit it out,_ Anakin, that’s precious water!”

Anakin sticks out his tongue, which is coated in a vile, bitter film. “Precious water - ha. Maybe it was precious before you put that vile stuff in it. Do you seriously like that swill?”

Obi-Wan rolls his eyes, and Anakin frowns until Obi-Wan gestures towards a little pot he recognises from the previous evening - the sweet ochar nectar. Brightening, Anakin unscrews the lid, and adds a heaped spoonful to his mug. He adds some to Obi-Wan's too - his Master only ever drinks tea so bitter when he's got his beard in a twist about something, and honestly Anakin thinks there's no need for that.

Obi-Wan purses his lips and Anakin can't help laughing cheerfully. “Come on Master, do you really like it? It’s foul.”

He picks up Obi-Wan’s cup and pushes it into his hands. Obi-Wan sips at his sweetened tea. As he does so, his expression darkens.

For the first time, Anakin feels the creeping sensation that Obi-Wan is struggling with something that's truly darkening his mood.

“Master? Are you alright?

“Yes,” says Obi-Wan stiffly.

“You’re lying to me. I can sense it.”

“Good, I’m very pleased for you,” Obi-Wan snaps, he immediately looks surprised at his own words, but it's too late. Anakin swallows, feeling his eyes prickle.

Somehow, Obi-Wan is still lying to him. After everything they've been through together - after how close they've become, after he just gave himself to Anakin, as his mate, his Omega - Obi-Wan is still acting like this.

Obi-Wan's presence roils in the Force as he releases an emotion Anakin can only identify as anger. It's not fair - after everything Anakin has just done for him.

“Don’t you feel better?” Anakin asks, trying to remind Obi-Wan that he has no reason to feel this way.

“Considerably," Obi-Wan replies bitterly.

Of course he wouldn't change so easily. It hurts, but Anakin steels himself. He has to take the higher road - that was always his failing before. He'd thought his Master was perfect. Now he knows better - it's not him that's wrong, it's Obi-Wan. If he can just be patient enough, he can get Obi-Wan to be gentle again, like before.

He has to. He's Obi-Wan's mate now.

“Why are you always like this, Master?” Anakin sighs, stirring more nectar into his tea.

“Don’t call me Master," Obi-Wan replies crisply.

"Why not!" Anakin cries. A lump is swelling in his throat, and his eyes are starting to burn. It seems that Obi-Wan truly intends to push him to his limit.

“I am no longer your Master,” Obi-Wan replies smoothly.

“Perhaps not, until you bought me.” Anakin hisses. Obi-Wan pales but Anakin continues. “For all you don’t want to be my Master, you seem happy enough for me to be your obedient slave.”

Anakin's heart is thumping in his chest. His resolution to stay calm seems light years away. Obi-Wan is being ridiculously childish, and it's beyond his ability to bear. Maybe they're due a good fight.

“I’m just trying to protect you, Anakin!” Obi-Wan cries.

“Protect me? By keeping me shut up here? What are you so afraid of, that I’ll spoil your reputation with the locals?”

Obi-Wan swallows and turns away. Anakin laughs. “That’s true, isn’t it? You’d just about die if anyone found out Obi-Wan Kenobi has a slave to keep his bed warm. When I’m not crawling round on the floor for you, least ways.”

Obi-Wan pales and looks away, staring down at the mug of tea in his hands. He looks truly ashamed, a deep sense of misery pervading his every movement.

Anakin feels a little bad then - he'd been irritated with Obi-Wan for continuing the charade of course, but he'd known his Master couldn't really intend to keep him as a slave. Anakin had played along, had degraded himself, to try and let him feel safe.

Obi-Wan takes a long sip of his tea. "Well, Anakin. I am truly sorry," Obi-Wan says, after a long moment. His voice is steady and firm, but his eyes are damp, leaking with the effort of suppressing his emotions.

Anakin softens, suddenly feeling sorry for his poor Master, who surely is struggling under the burden of his emotions, terrified to express them. It had seemed funny before, to imagine Obi-Wan unable to control himself with his body flooded with heat hormones.

Obi-Wan sighs heavily, and sets down his empty cup. “So, exactly when abouts did you remember? Were you lying about the amnestics?”

Anakin can't help grinning - he'd had Obi-Wan well and truly fooled. “I knew as soon as I saw you.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

Anakin rolls his eyes. “And what would you have done if I did? I thought if you knew I remembered, you might. I don’t know.” Anakin shrugs. He'd been afraid - he'd felt weak and vulnerable, a bomb in his chest and no power to speak of other than what he could find in the Force - which wouldn't be worth much when he was one button press away from death, and barely remembered his own name, never mind decades of training. “You might’ve killed me. Left me there.”

Obi-Wan looks away. Anakin gets the sinking feeling Obi-Wan truly might have left him there if he'd known.

“And you truly remember everything?”

Anakin grimaces. “Most everything. There’s things I can’t remember from just before the wipe. After we fought - it gets fuzzy then. But - I remember. You know. The fight. The suit.”

Pain. The weight of the dark. Despair so deep he'd never thought he'd feel anything else ever again.

He chokes.

_Don't think about it._

Those memories are the distant past. Whatever brought him here has freed him from the grasp of the dark, for now.

“But you’ve spent at least two years on Tatooine?”

“At least two. It might be more.”

Obi-Wan lapses into silence. Anakin studies his sweet bread. He still feels hungry, but his appetite is fading. He really hadn't imagined the conversation heading this way. He'd thought they would curl up together. Obi-Wan would finally tell him the truth - finally confess how deeply he feels. They would have shared food, and Anakin would have held him close.

Instead, Obi-Wan remains cold and distant, and Anakin is fighting off frustration.

“Why did you tell me?” Obi-Wan asks.

“I don’t know,” Anakin sighs. He'd done it for a hundred reasons, but Obi-Wan seems too overwrought at the moment to understand. “I just did it, I thought - it seemed like a thing to do, so I did it.”

Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow. "I assume, then, that it was your intention to provoke me?"

Anakin glares at him. Of course Obi-Wan would assume the worst. Maybe Anakin had intended to surprise him, but the way Obi-Wan is acting is really ridiculously overblown.

"You wanted to hurt me. You used the best weapon you had," Obi-Wan states, looking grim.

"Perhaps,” Anakin replies truthfully. “I mean, don't you think you deserved it? It's not like I hurt you for real, I just took you by surprise."

A muscle jumps in Obi-Wan's jaw.

Anakin gives up on the afternoon going like he wanted it to. He picks up his bread, tearing a shred off and stuffing it in his mouth.

Obi-Wan sighs, scrubbing his hands over his face and through his messy beard. Anakin rolls his eyes.

“Oh come on, Master. It wasn’t that bad was it?” Anakin smirks - Obi-Wan had obviously enjoyed himself, even if he'd found it hard to accept. “You got into it, I know you did!”

Obi-Wan scowls and turns away. He pushes his feelings into the Force, a little clumsily, and Anakin catches them - frustration, anger, embarrassment.

For the first time, Anakin feels the first flare of real anger.

“Obi-Wan,” he growls, and he weighs his words with his presence. ”Don’t be like that. Can’t you just be happy?”

Obi-Wan gapes at him, looking truly astounded. “Happy? Yes, Anakin, I’m truly delighted. Nothing quite brings me more joy than being mated by the man who destroyed everything I ever loved.”

Anakin flinches.

_Don't think about it._

Instead, he curls away from Obi-Wan, clasping his tea, finger nails whitening. He'd thought they were past this. Obi-Wan even admitted that he'd been at fault - and now he's acting like he doesn't even want to be around Anakin.

“So much for your apology, hmm Master?”

Obi-Wan's face darkens. “Oh yes, I remember. I’m sure you were very happy to hear that.”

"Yes, Obi-Wan, I was! I thought - I thought that you meant it."

Obi-Wan looks away, looking exhausted and flushed.

Maybe Obi-Wan will never accept him. Things had been so much easier when they were Ben and Dani - the weight of decades worth of expectations and misunderstandings washed away. Even though they'd been lying to each other, Anakin thinks it's probably the most honest Obi-Wan has ever been.

They shouldn't be fighting like this. Already, the next flush of Obi-Wan's arousal is layering the air with pheromones.

There's so much Anakin doesn't want to think about.

“You could erase my memories again,” Anakin says quietly, after a long moment.

“No,” Obi-Wan replies quickly. Anakin thinks he understand why - even though it's been hard, so much has passed between them in the last day - that's something he wouldn't really want to forget.

“I suppose you did raise one relevant question,” Obi-Wan says pensively, fixing Anakin with a piercing gaze. “How am I going to keep you here?”

Anakin shifts uncomfortably. looking back, he might have said some things that, in retrospect, weren't exactly reassuring. At the time, he'd been high on the feeling of power and relief Obi-Wan's submission had brought him. He'd wanted to see how far he could push, understand how completely Obi-Wan had yielded to him.

But what Obi-Wan is asking - it's not without a point. As much as Anakin doesn't want to think about it, if the Empire discovers he's here, there's no doubt that - that Palpatine - will do everything in his power to return his loyal servant to his side.

What will Anakin do? He feels no compulsion to return, no desire for the cloying power of the dark. But if it came down to it...

Anakin sighs, looking down at his hands. “I don’t know.” he sips his tea, trying to think of some power that might combat the siren call, should he hear it. “I mean - you could bond with me. That would probably keep me here.”

Obi-Wan gawks at him.

Anakin wishes he'd said nothing - he can't really handle any more of Obi-Wan's rejections today.

But something in Obi-Wan seems to soften. "You ridiculous boy," he sighs, but he pats Anakin on the knee and pours them each another cup of tea.

Anakin has finished his bread, and he regrets it now, as Obi-Wan gentles, and the mood lightens. To his surprise, Obi-Wan takes his own bread and tears it in half. He pushes a piece into Anakin's hand.

Anakin sighs with relief and eats his bread. Obi-Wan might seem reluctant now, but with the right persuasion, no doubt he'll come round.

They'll figure it out together.

 

~Fin~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy. So, here concludes our adventure thus far. This is probably just about the hardest chapter of any fic I have ever written, and I think it's less than perfect, but I just can't leave you all hanging, and keep editing and revising it forever.
> 
> I know there are still a lot of questions unanswered, but the story I wanted to tell here was more about the interplay of weird power dynamics, and the way Anakin's supposed amnesia affected the way Obi-Wan felt about him. Kaiserine and I might revisit this verse with further stories, or I might reuse the setting and tropes in play to tell a different story.
> 
>  **Most importantly** thank you to everyone who has supported this fic so far. **Every kudos or comment or reblog on tumblr means the absolute world to me** , I thrive on it, and the joy and satisfaction I get when other people want to talk about this fic with me is just immense. So, if you want to make my day, go ahead and click the button, or visit me over on tumblr :)
> 
> I really hope you enjoyed this fic, despite the somewhat awkward ending and asshole twist half way through! Here's to the longest fanfic I ever finished...!
> 
> Massive props to Kaiserine (@aramanthis) for the constant help, support, ideas, tea, and changing all my incorrectly capitalised words...


	6. Interlude (Or Epilogue)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of Anakin's reveal, from Obi-Wan's perspective.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I first drafted Halfway, I couldn't find words for Obi-Wan's perspective. With the benefit of time, here's Obi-Wan's experience of the previous chapter. There are a few words of a continuation drafted, and I'm hoping to find inspiration to continue... time will tell!

Anakin rolls off him eventually, to clean himself up. Obi-Wan watches him carefully, but cannot bring himself to move. Anakin reappears with a damp rag. He smiles sweetly, happily, as if he hadn't just - hadn't ever-. Obi-Wan forces a smile. If Anakin is happy, it serves his purposes. Better a happy, fay Anakin, than a ranting, deranged one.

Anakin approaches, and Obi-Wan remains pliant as he is attended to. The cloth is cool and rough, and the sensation as it drags over his skin is grounding. Anakin holds a cup to his face, and Obi-Wan sips from it, then gulps, thirsty with exertion.

With that taken care of, Anakin climbs back onto the bed beside him. There's a happy purr in the back of his throat, rattling through his chest. The vibrations make Obi-Wan feel syrupy, warm. His chest aches. He presses up close against Anakin, swallowing the swell of nameless emotions.

Anakin draws him in, wrapping an arm around his shoulders so Obi-Wan can rest his head on Anakin’s chest.

Huddled in close, Obi-Wan doses. There’s too much to think about. Too many questions, too many emotions and physical sensations to process without the support of the Force, which remains distant. He lets himself drift away, focused only on the soft thump of Anakin’s heart beat, and the sated, happy scent of him.

Anakin begins to fidget with impatience. Anakin allows him perhaps a quarter of an hour of rest before he is no longer able to contain himself.

“That was good, he announces blithely. “I’m hungry. Aren’t you hungry, Master?”

Obi-Wan is anything but hungry, and feels far from good. His stomach is twisting with faint nausea, and he’s too tired to do anything but close his eyes and hope for the desert to swallow him whole.

He wrestles himself out of Anakin's rathtar grip, then drags himself onto his elbows, and from there, on to his knees. His eyes feel hot and puffy, and his nose feels stuffed with cotton. A consequence of his inadvisable and overwrought emotional displays. Obi-Wan winces with chagrin.

His groin aches, and his stomach flutters at the loose, sticky sensations. His heat isn’t over yet, but the worst throes of it are quelled for now. He knows he should probably worry about pregnancy, and he will need to arrange a trip to Anchorhead’s doctor swiftly following his heat.

In a stark counterpoint of how Obi-Wan feels,  Anakin looks supremely content. Obi-Wan suppresses the urge to punch him in the face, and wrangles his uncooperative mouth into a smile.

“I suppose I should feed you,” he grouses. Thank the stars that he finds the wherewithal to sound well put together and confident, his pride intact. That couldn’t be further from the truth. He’s never felt so utterly humiliated - but he has no intention of making Anakin aware of that fact.

"You should," Anakin says, and stretches out like a lazy cat while Obi-Wan searches for his clothes and pulls them back on.

Half of him would like nothing more than to cling to Anakin until the end of his days. The other half of him, growing more vociferous by the moment, is contemplating fleeing into the desert to wait for his death. But no. Anakin’s good humour will last only as long as his own. If he wishes to tackle Anakin's betrayal, and what took place - before - then he must do so at a later date, when he has regained his strength.

At any rate, he feels a little better to have a barrier between his body and Anakin’s shrewd, roaming gaze. The soft feeling of the cloth is soothing. His skin feels hot and tight, as if sunburned.

In the kitchen area, he fills a kettle, intent on focusing himself with some of his most astringent tea. As it bubbles away, he searches for easy food to prepare. He settles on two cuts of a simple sweet bread he’d found at a bakery stall yesterday - an extravagance he’d allowed himself before splashing out at the slave market.

Oh stars, he still legally owns Anakin. The transmitter key is secreted only feet away in the trunk, nestled up with Anakin's favoured murder weapon. He wonders if Anakin has any idea he has it. Obi-Wan contemplates taking the transmitter out, keeping it close as insurance.

As if he could possibly bring himself to kill Anakin that way.

Obi-Wan plates the bread with shaking hands, and lays the tea set out on the mat where they have taken all their meals so far. He sets the little pot of nectar next to Anakin’s mug, for when he complains about the bitterness of the tea.

Obi-Wan sits down with his back to the wall, and Anakin slips off the bed and curls up next to him, nestled into his side, murmuring softly. Obi-Wan stiffens, hunched and uncomfortable with the contact. He reaches for meditative calm, runs the Jedi code through his mind.

The pot and mugs are battered enamel in a white and blue. His favoured clay set, left to him by Qui-Gon, remained in the temple after Anakin’s massacre. Perhaps they are destroyed by now. Perhaps they remain, untouched, gathering dust in his old room.

He imagines the black specter of Darth Vader stood amidst the ruins of their old life, and strangely feels that Anakin is imaging the same thing.

This dark thought hangs between them, then flitters away as Anakin visibly draws himself together.

Darth Vader. Another reason Obi-Wan will need to visit Anchorhead soon. He needs news from off planet.

Anakin is speaking. “- well do you, Master?”

“Pardon?” Obi-Wan asks, shaking himself.

Anakin rolls his eyes. “Whatever,” he says, and pours tea for them both. It's utterly mundane, and so familiar that a lump forms in Obi-Wan's throat. In his current state of fragility, it seems he cannot counter or bear this emotion with dignity. Tears prickle the corners of his eyes.

“Oh - ah. Thank you,” says Obi-Wan, feigning embarrassment to his breathless heartache. He stares down into the full cup, doubting he could drink it without choking.

Anakin grins at him, and picks up his cup to take a sip.

“Oh, urgh!”

Obi-Wan glares, an expression formed through decades of habit. “Don’t spit it out, Anakin. That’s precious water.”

Anakin pulls a face, and Obi-Wan is struck by the sudden, revolting urge to kiss him. “Precious water - ha. Maybe it was precious before you put that vile stuff in it. Do you seriously like that swill?”

In truth, he doesn't, but the astringency helps settle his mind, provides him with focus.

Perhaps - perhaps he also chose this tea to play a trick on Anakin. How strange, that he is capable of such things, when he still feels so shaken. He gestures towards the pot of nectar, and Anakin brightens. He takes liberties with it - as he does with so many things - dolling out a huge helping for himself, and stirring some into Obi-Wan's tea, unasked.

Well, Anakin has sweetened his tea, and with it, Obi-Wan's last ditch attempt to focus. How typical of him.

Obi-Wan purses his lips. Anakin smiles like the breaking dawn, laughing cheerfully. “Come on Master, do you really like it? It’s foul.”

He picks up Obi-Wan’s cup and pushes it into his hands. Obi-Wan sips at his sweetened tea. The flavour barely seems to register. How can Anakin act so cheerful after what has just occurred? All his darkness is tucked away, and he has returned to Dani’s airy graces.

But that grace was a lie - a manipulation to put Ben at ease. Soon this bubble of peace will pop, and they will have to face reality. What will Anakin do? Kill him? Keep him, as he'd promised in sick, silky tones not hours before? There are plenty of tortures Obi-Wan can imagine his old student visiting upon him.

“Master?” says Anakin, his forehead creased with a delicate frown. “Are you alright?

“Yes,” Obi-Wan replies stiffly. If only Anakin would give him a few minutes to think.

Anakin purses his lips. “You’re lying to me. I can sense it.”

“Good, I’m very pleased for you,” Obi-Wan replies loftily, before he can control himself.

Anakin’s eyes crease unhappily. Obi-Wan fights back the first creepings of fury. Anakin has no right to that kind of hurt. He forsook his right to Obi-Wan’s confidence and temperance five years ago. Now here he is, upsetting the balance of Obi-Wan's ascetic, serene life.

Obi-Wan releases what he can of his fury - but there's little he can do

“Don’t you feel better?” Anakin pleads

Oh yes, Obi-Wan thinks, with bitter sarcasm. Don't I feel better. Are not all his ill's fixed, thanks to Anakin's duplicitous mercies? “Considerably," he replies.

When Obi-Wan thinks on it, what Anakin has just done - tricking him - using his Alpha influence, when Obi-Wan was weak, taken in -  some people might call that a crime. Some planets have particularly strict laws against such things.

Anakin has no idea. The concept that Obi-Wan might have a reason to be distressed has not registered with him.

“Why are you always like this, Master?” Anakin sighs, stirring more nectar into his tea.

“Don’t call me Master.” If he couldn’t bear it from Dani, from Anakin, after all this, it is intolerable.

“Why not?” Anakin cries, growing angry. His lips pout in that irritable mou, which Obi-Wan is so familiar with from his years correcting Anakin’s behaviour as a Padawan.

“I am no longer your Master,” Obi-Wan replies smoothly, though his answer hides the bizarrely strong feelings he has on the matter.

Anakin narrows his eyes, truly angry now. He pulls away from Obi Wan, sitting ramrod straight, with his back to the wall. Obi-Wan wonders what button he’s managed to press this time.

“Perhaps not, until you bought me.” Anakin hisses. Obi-Wan pales but Anakin continues. “For all you don’t want to be my Master, you seem happy enough for me to be your obedient slave.”

“I’m just trying to protect you, Anakin!” Obi-Wan cries, searching for some way to defend himself. He’d known, back when he first bought Anakin, that he couldn’t keep him.

“Protect me? By keeping me shut up here? What are you so afraid of, that I’ll spoil your reputation with the locals?”

Obi-Wan finds he cannot look Anakin in the face, because at least in part, that’s true. If the local population find out he’s keeping a slave, every business will close to him. Owen Lars will never accept a shred of help from him again, and any slim hope he might ever have of preparing Luke for the future will evaporate like water on the sands.

Anakin tosses his head haughtily, an ugly grin twisting his lips. “That’s true, isn’t it?” He says, his tone airy and light, like they’re ribbing each other about a mishap on their latest adventure. “You’d just about die if anyone found out Obi-Wan Kenobi has a slave to keep his bed warm. When I’m not crawling round on the floor for you, least ways.”

Dani, curled up on the floor in his blankets. Obi-Wan had run a hand through his hair, and been horribly, sickly grateful that Dani had been prepared to do that for him. Degrading himself to make Obi-Wan feel safe enough to sleep, despite how lying with his face on the floor must have felt.

He had allowed Anakin to do that. Why had Anakin done that? Had he known, even then, what Obi-Wan was to him?

His throat aches, and he snatches up his tea to hide his face. Is Anakin truly capable still of such gentleness? He'd thought that sweetness had been lost forever at Mustafar.

In Dani, he'd thought he'd seen it returned, kept safe and innocent from the horrors of the past.

But if that had been Anakin, what then?

And at any rate, how could he have allowed such a thing, for his own comfort?

He takes a sip of tea to loosen his throat.

“Well, Anakin. I am truly sorry.” Obi-Wan says, when he is certain his voice will be steady. His eyes leak with the effort.

Anakin’s face softens marginally, as he processes the apology.

Obi-Wan draws himself together and presses forward, taking advantage of this subtle change of atmosphere. “So, exactly when abouts did you remember? Were you lying about the amnestics?”

Anakin hums, looking proud of himself, slipping mercurially from irritation to conspiratorial pleasure. He bows forward, as if taking Obi-Wan into his confidence.

“I knew as soon as I saw you.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

Anakin rolls his eyes. “And what would you have done if I did? I thought if you knew I remembered, you might. I don’t know.” Anakin shrugs, frowning unhappily. “You might’ve killed me. Left me there.”

Obi-Wan had very much tried to leave him there. Apparently he is too soft hearted to deny Anakin anything.

“And you truly remember everything?” Obi-Wan prompts, both concerned and, strangely, hopeful.

He's not sure if he hopes Anakin remembers his life before - and with it, information that might be filtered to the rebellion - or if he hopes he doesn't. That those dark days are obscured to him.

Anakin grimaces. “Most everything. There’s things I can’t remember from just before the wipe. After we fought - it gets fuzzy then. But - I remember. You know. The fight. The suit. I remember him.” His voice chokes with a strange growl.

Does he mean the Emperor or Vader? Obi-Wan can’t bring himself to ask.

Another shared image - darkness, pain, crushing weight. Anakin's panic, fresh and lively - in the here and now.

Obi-Wan reaches out into the Force to steady him, and distracts him with a question.

“But you’ve spent at least two years on Tatooine?”

“At least two. It might be more.”

Obi-Wan sighs. Anakin seems to have no memory of how he came to be on Tatooine - too addled by the amnestics. Of his strange transformation, he has little knowledge, but he has been fully aware, this whole time, of their relation to one another.

Of their awful parting.

And yet Anakin has given up every advantage, and has played his hand to seemingly little material benefit, save Obi-Wan's resulting distress.

“Why did you tell me?” Obi-Wan asks, hoping Anakin has a good reason and doubting it.

“I don’t know,” Anakin sighs. “I just did it, I thought - it just seemed like a thing to do, so I did it.”

Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow. "I assume, then, that it was your intention to provoke me?"

Anakin looks at him guiltily.

"You wanted to hurt me. You used the best weapon you had," Obi-Wan states, his heart sinking.

"Perhaps," says Anakin. He picks up his own bread, tearing a shred off and stuffing it in his mouth. “I mean, don’t you think you deserved it? I needed you to know.”

Obi-Wan grits his teeth. Anakin has no idea how cruel his little reveal had been - he thinks it's funny.

“Oh come on, Master. It wasn’t that bad was it?” He grins conspiratorially and stretches out, flirtatious. “You got into it, I know you did!”

Obi-Wan scowls and turns away, sheer frustration and rage mixing with his embarrassment. He pushes his feelings into the Force, a little clumsily. Anakin must notice - his demeanour changes immediately.

Obi-Wan remembers his resolution to keep Anakin placated, but it seems he is failing at that task.

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin cajoles him, his tone growing dangerous. He takes Obi-Wan by the elbow, and his grip feels slimy and foul. ”Don’t be like that. Can’t you just be happy?”

Obi-Wan cannot hide his amazed disgust. “Happy? Yes, Anakin, I’m truly delighted,” and then because Anakin is still looking at him like he’s being intentionally obtuse, “Nothing quite brings me more joy than being mated by the man who destroyed everything I ever loved.”

Anakin stares at him, something like shock and panic filtering through his eyes. Obi-Wan waits for the pal of the dark side to descend.

Anakin says nothing. He simply sighs and reaches for his tea, hands shaking. He seems diminished.

Obi-Wan sips his own tea, which Anakin sweetened for him, because Anakin knows he doesn’t truly like his tea all that bitter. Their pots from breakfast are still stacked nearby. How simple things had been, when he'd thought Anakin's cruelty had been washed away.

“So much for you apology, hmm Master?”

Obi-Wan nearly chokes. He’d forgotten. “I’m sure you were very happy to hear that.”

Anakin sighs. "Yes, Obi-Wan, I was. I thought - I thought that you meant it."

He had meant it, too. They lapse into silence.

Obi-Wan feels too tired to maintain his anger, his misery. He find himself longing for peace between them. But whenever has there been that?

For a moment, Obi-Wan allows himself to picture a world in which Anakin had never revealed himself. Perhaps they would be curled together now, both content and happy with the satisfaction of pure, biological need.

Already, there's a pressure building inside him again - that squirming, driving discomfort. What will he do, now he knows how it feels to drive it away?

A weak foreign part of him wants to crawl into Anakin's lap and stay there. How can he think such things, in the face of all that Anakin has done? He has lost the conviction to not love him.

“You could erase my memories again,” Anakin says suddenly.

“No,” Obi-Wan replies, shocked by his own conviction. Despite how much he's spent the long afternoon wishing that he could have spent more time with Dani, the idea of losing Anakin is uncomfortable.

Which reminds him of their unhappy exchange during the confusion of coitus. “I suppose you did raise one relevant question. How am I going to keep you here?”

Anakin looks away, staring at his hands while his cheeks flush pink. After a moment of contemplation, his brow furrows seriously.

Anakin sighs, and when he speaks, Obi-Wan is surprised by his candid tone. "I don't know. I mean - you could bond with me. That would probably keep me here.”

Obi-Wan blinks at him for a moment. What on earth does Anakin mean? Does he really intend to co-operate with his confinement?

But perhaps Obi-Wan has misread him. He remembers Dani, again, with his face pressed to the floor. The sweet preserves he'd eaten only this morning.

When has Anakin craved anything other than affection?

"You ridiculous boy," he sighs. Only Anakin would seek such a dramatic, overwrought solution to their problems. Do they not already share a bond in all the ways that truly matter? Anakin was his Padawan for years. The events of today are small, paltry things in comparison to the previous decades.

Obi-Wan rubs the back of his neck, where Anakin had sunk in his teeth before. Would he know, if they had bonded accidentally?

Surely he would.

With that decided, he pats Anakin's knee, and pours them two more cups of tea - now adding nectar to each cup. Anakin is staring at his own empty plate with a mournful expression. Obi-Wan recalls Anakin's early days at the temple, and the simple pleasure he had taken in sharing food together. He breaks his own bread in half, and offers a piece to Anakin.

Anakin sighs happily and takes it.

Obi-Wan reminds himself that he has been betrayed and grievously hurt, and tries not to feel too fond.

“Did I really die?” Anakin asks, “I don’t remember dying. Or is that just your, uh, creative handling of the truth?”

Obi-Wan sighs. “That’s what I’m trying to understand. Three months ago, I had it that you were still in the core, the ever loyal servant to our esteemed emperor.”

Anakin stares at him. “Oh.” he says. “Oh.”

Obi-Wan tilts his head. “What is it?”

“I- Think - I don't really remember - I was so split. I think I saw you? There was so much I wanted, I knew I could still have it. If only I reached out. The force - it was so strange."

And there’s a nasty thought - is Vader out there, aware of Anakin’s existence, and potentially searching for him? Anakin is still shrunken in next to him, a void between them of only a foot or so. Obi-Wan is too tired to deal with this right now. His body is telling him to shut down, to relax and rest for the next swelling of his arousal.

 

“Whatever it is, we’ll deal with it later,” Obi-Wan announces. He finishes his bread, and after a moment’s hesitation, he throws an arm around Anakin and tucks him against his side.

Anakin lets himself be jostled into place. His fingers curl into Obi-Wan’s robes and he snuffles quietly into Obi-Wan’s neck. Something wet drips down onto his collarbone. He lets Anakin cry, and tries to keep himself from doing the same.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this [Please consider reblogging on tumblr :)](http://astalitha.tumblr.com/post/166753188410/halfway-from-the-curb-to-the-doorway-chapter-5) Even though this fic is finished, I'll also happily answer questions or respond to other prompts, if anyone is interested in generating ideas!


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